


Daydreams

by PhoenixPhoether



Series: Impressions [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Drama, Falling In Love, First Time, Friendship, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Post-War, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 50,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry returns to Hogwarts for the summer to help rebuild the castle, he discovers that the Room of Requirement is hiding something. Will it draw out Harry's own secrets? A tender, romantic coming out story.  Post-Hogwarts, but not a typical "eighth year" fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of the series inspired by Impressionist composer Claude Debussy. The piece for this one is "Reverie" ("Daydream" is the rough English translation, but the word has more connotations than that). You can read the note on the first part of the series for the full story of how this fic began. It was also inspired in part by Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition," specifically the second "picture"--"Il Vecchio Castello" ("The Old Castle"). At the time I started this work, I happened to be rehearsing "Pictures" for a concert.
> 
> Reverie: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0CLYpYKHNY
> 
> Il Vecchio Castello: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNYhS6Fpq0c

  
_  
_ **I**   


_It’s over._

 The words echoed in Harry’s brain, over and over, as he stumbled into wakefulness. This was the first full night’s sleep he’d had in ages, and he was reluctant to emerge from it. He stretched and opened his eyes to the now-familiar ceiling of his own bedroom at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He smiled faintly when he saw that Kreacher had left him a rather nice breakfast. He struggled to sit up, deciding that it was probably best to eat something. He needed to pack, and he supposed that it was best to work on a full stomach.

 While he ate, he reflected both on his waking thoughts and on what lay ahead. It wasn’t just the war that was over; they had also buried their dead and tended their wounded. The reality was, though, that there remained so much to do. There were still the trials, at which many who had fought in the war had been called on to testify, and Hermione needed to find her parents and bring them home. She had vowed to do so before they’d even started out, and Harry had offered to go with her when she said she was ready to make good on that promise.

 At first he’d been sure that Ron would say no, but he surprised Harry by suggesting that it was the most obvious option. Hermione didn’t want to go alone, but Ron couldn’t fathom leaving his family just then. The trust they had built over seven years seemed to be holding, and Harry had made the arrangements. They had exactly ten days until he needed to return for the first of the trials, and there was no possible way for Harry to avoid them. Should a problem arise in Australia, he would owl for assistance. He was confident that there would be no need; Hermione was a competent witch, and the Wizarding hospital in Sydney was a respected establishment.

 There was another reason for returning quickly. Within days of the last funeral, all students who had been fifth, sixth, or seventh years during the war had received a letter. They were offered the chance to return for a summer term. At the end of that time, students who had missed them could elect to take O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in certain subjects. The coursework would not only fill in their educational gaps, it would enable the rebuilding of Hogwarts to progress more quickly. During the eight-week summer programmes, students would learn the required spells to repair the castle. Exams in subjects not required for rebuilding would not be offered, but there were other options for the students. Fifth years would be exempt from those exams and could opt to continue in them anyway. Seventh years could elect to return to Hogwarts and take those classes they needed for their N.E.W.T.s.

 There had not been a question of whether Harry, Ron, and Hermione would enroll in the summer classes. Seventh years were not required to do so, as they were of age and could simply choose not to return. Even Harry and Ron had already been offered the chance to enter Auror training without their N.E.W.T.s, and for once, Hermione didn’t tell them that they should not accept the blatant favouritism. Yet their unspoken agreement seemed to be that it was the right thing to do. Hermione had suggested if they returned, so would everyone else. She had sent an owl to Professor McGonagall on their behalf, letting her know of their plans.

 After finishing off the last of the toast Kreacher had provided, Harry at last rose from his bed. He picked up his wand with the intent to banish the crumbs from the sheets, but he was momentarily distracted by the second wand that lay next to it. He sighed.

 There had been no way to return Malfoy’s wand to him. Immediately after Voldemort’s death, there had been a confusing muddle of people to see and things to do. By the time he had a spare moment, all three of the Malfoys had departed. They were currently under house arrest, awaiting three separate trials—the first of the lot and the only ones at which Harry had agreed to testify on behalf of the defence. He honestly didn’t care what happened to Lucius, though he had developed a grudging bit of sympathy for him. He did not, however, intend to see either of the others sent to Azkaban if he had anything to do with it. Narcissa’s sacrifice and a year of living with visions of what Voldemort had done to the youngest Malfoy had left Harry with the certainty that they’d both had enough pain to more than make up for any crimes they may or may not have committed. It was for their sake that he intended to take Lucius’ part as well.

Harry shook himself. He needed to clear his head and begin preparations for his trip with Hermione. Ignoring the pang of guilt that he wasn’t going to take the time to Apparate to Malfoy Manor to return the wand before leaving, he waved his own at the crumbs on the bed. Once he was satisfied that Kreacher wouldn’t be after him about the mess he left, he gathered his clothes and made for the bath.

* * *

He arrived ten minutes early to meet Hermione at the designated location to take the portkey to Sydney, which turned out to be a battered shoe. He smiled a little when he saw that she was already there, clutching a tiny bag in one hand. He suspected that she’d brought plenty of books along just in case. Some things, he reflected, never changed.

 “All ready?” she asked. Before Harry could reply, she continued, “I took the liberty of getting us a room at a hotel that accommodates both wizards and Muggles. It’s within walking distance of the hospital, so we can avoid Apparating as much as possible once my parents are settled there.”

 “Okay,” Harry replied. There wasn’t much to say to that. He suddenly felt awkward about travelling alone with Hermione, despite the fact they’d done just that less than six months prior.

 Hermione picked up on the tension. “Are you certain you still want to come? I can go alone—”

 “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll go.”

 She smiled. “Look at the pair of us. We’re the outsiders, aren’t we?”

 Harry knew what she meant. “We just need to give them time.” He hoped she believed him.

 “Right.” She paused. “What did Ginny say when you told her you were going with me?”

 “Nothing.” Harry shrugged. For some reason, he didn’t want to talk about that. She hadn’t been upset at all. That should have bothered Harry, perhaps, but it didn’t—though, strangely, it _did_ bother him that he wasn’t more concerned about her reaction.

 Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You did tell her, didn’t you?”

 “Yes. But as we’re not officially together, it shouldn’t matter.” The conversation was beginning to irritate him, and he didn’t want to examine closely why they still hadn’t declared their relationship. For the time being, he was explaining it away by her need to be with her family. He’d already concluded that they had time ahead of them and there was no need to rush. Yet somehow, the thought that she would be waiting for him when he returned didn’t make him as happy as he imagined it should.

 Wisely, Hermione didn’t press any further. She knew all too well the strain war and death put on a relationship. Instead, she said, “I think it’s about time.”

 When the old shoe began to glow, they both took hold of it, and Harry braced himself against the jarring sensation of being yanked forwards belly-button first.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

They arrived in Sydney without any difficulty, and Hermione immediately began her search. Naturally, she knew her parents’ assumed names, and locating them wasn’t much bother. It was convincing them to talk to her that might take some time. In the end, she dragged Harry with her, and they simply showed up on Monica and Wendell Wilkins’ doorstep. Hermione didn’t even bother with preamble; when her mother opened the door, Hermione _Stupefied_ her and went in search of her father, leaving Harry to keep watch. Once they were both sedated, Hermione enlisted Harry to help her Apparate them to the hospital. He suspected it wasn’t perhaps the best thought-out plan, but then again, modifying their memories and sending them halfway around the world may not have been the best plan, either.

 At the hospital, Hermione informed Harry that it would take her about an hour to sign parchments and discuss the options. Harry did not wanted to intrude, so he left her to it. Instead, he wandered around the park. After purchasing a cup of coffee, he found himself by an immense pool with multiple fountains. He pulled his jacket a little tighter. It wasn’t exactly cold, but the air was damp and the sun was hidden by the clouds. As he walked along the path beside the pool, he looked for a place to sit.

Some way off, two men were approaching. There was something Harry found sort of intriguing about them, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When they reached the edge of the path on which Harry stood, they turned toward each other. The shorter, dark-haired man reached out for his blond companion, drawing him in for a brief kiss. Harry stared. He knew it was rude; they were having a private moment. He was also fairly certain that he’d seen two men kiss before—it wasn’t all _that_ unusual. But there was something so sensual in it that it sucked Harry’s breath right out of his chest. He couldn’t avert his gaze.

 When the men parted, their eyes locked on Harry’s for a moment. He grew warm and looked away, knowing that he was blushing furiously at having been caught. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all, really, although he was reluctant to consider any alternative. He quickly turned around and walked as fast as he dared in the opposite direction.

 After the hour was up, Harry returned to the hospital to collect Hermione. She was in a good mood; apparently, the healers had told her that her skillful spellwork had spared her parents from permanent damage. They would need to go slowly with the memory restoration because it could cause them mental anguish if they proceeded too rapidly, but Hermione was unconcerned. She had been prepared to stay for as long as she needed. According to the healers, they believed her parents’ memories would be fully returned in under two weeks. That had been the best news possible—it looked as though they would all be able to return before the trials. Even if they couldn’t, Hermione was comfortable staying on her own after that, as she was no longer afraid that there was permanent damage.

 They continued to walk through the park while Hermione filled Harry in on the details. Inadvertently, Harry led her back to the same pool where he had been not fifteen minutes before. When they walked the length of the pool, Harry’s heart sped up as he recognised the two men he had seen earlier, now seated side by side next to the water.

 Harry and Hermione passed the pair of them. She was so wrapped up in what she was saying that she didn’t spare them a glance. Harry, on the other hand, was unable to help himself. His eyes flicked over to them. He sensed the ambient magic immediately and suspected they were wizards. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him, but it did.

 As Harry walked by, they trained their eyes on him, tracking his progress for a moment. The fair-haired man held out his hand to the darker one. Rolling his eyes, the darker one reached into his pocket and pulled out a galleon. That certainly confirmed what Harry had worked out. He smiled at the thought that they had been betting on whether or not he was a wizard or a Muggle. He relaxed a little, hopeful that it meant they had assumed that was why he had gawped at them previously.

 That theory fizzled the moment the blond man’s eyes met his. He was quite good-looking, and Harry felt his neck begin to sweat a little. The man arched his eyebrow and smirked, following it up with a fetching wink. Harry refused to meet his gaze after that, concentrating harder on what Hermione was saying. He honestly did not want to consider the possibility that either of the men had any interest in him other than his magical abilities, despite the evidence to the contrary. He also did not want to think too deeply about the fact that he’d found the blond one so attractive.

 Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day taking in the sights. They found a post office and sent owls to their friends explaining what was happening. Afterwards, they enjoyed a quiet dinner near their hotel. Hermione suggested an early night, since she had to be at the hospital in the morning to help sort out her parents. Harry, tired from both their whirlwind tour of Sydney and the effort of bottling in his growing sense of unease, agreed. He took a book and settled into bed.

 It wasn’t long before he drifted off, the book slipping from his fingers and onto the floor. He slid effortlessly into his dreams.

  _He was standing by the pool, the moonlight reflecting off the water. He tossed a coin into the fountain and watched as it sank to the bottom._

_“What did you wish for?” said a voice in his ear. He shuddered at the vibrations._

_“You, I think,” he managed to reply._

_The owner of the voice gave a deep, melodic chuckle. Harry liked the sound of it, even though he wasn’t sure that he should._

_“I’m here now. We both are.”_

_Harry turned around. The men he had seen that morning at the pool were standing there, bathed in the glow of the moon. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Harry knew this was a bad idea, but he didn’t think he cared just then. He willingly followed the men._

_He wasn’t sure how they got there, but they were in a bedroom. He didn’t know where they were; all he knew was that both of the men were with him, and that it was equal parts strange and intriguing. The taller one reached for him and touched his face._

_“We can show you things,” he said._

_“What things?”_

_The man didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Harry. It was slow and sensuous and he wished it would go on forever. While he was thinking this, the other man was touching him and pulling at his shirt. Without quite knowing what was happening, Harry found himself suddenly devoid of clothing. He gasped._

_The blond man laughed softly, his lips pressed against Harry’s throat. Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. Tenderly, the man ran his hands down Harry’s sides until they reached his hips. He trailed one finger across Harry’s hipbone and slid it into the crease at the top of his thigh, teasing. Harry’s breath hitched. The man’s fingers continued their movement while the dark-haired man caressed Harry’s shoulders from behind. At some point, the man behind him must have shed his clothes as well, because Harry gasped when he felt something hot and hard press into his back. The blond man was now stroking Harry; he moved his hand slowly at first, then with more urgency. Both of the men were on him by that point, kissing and rubbing and touching until Harry was certain that he was literally on fire. He was so close…_

_The tall man was whispering in his ear. “Harry.”_

 “Harry.” Then again, louder this time. “Harry!”

 His eyes flew open to find Hermione standing over him, a worried look on her face. She reached out to touch him, but he shrank back. He scrabbled at the blankets to make certain that he was fully covered.

 “Are you all right?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

 “I’m—I’m fine.”

 “You were, um, thrashing about. What—”

 “Just a bad dream.” _Or a very good one_ , he thought. He still wasn’t sure himself.

 Her eyes widened. “I thought—it wasn’t about _him_ was it?”

 He shook his head, understanding her fear but still having difficulty focusing. “No. Those are gone. I promise.”

 “O-okay. I just—never mind. As long as you’re all right.”

 “I said I was fine.”

 Hermione nodded and backed off. She returned to her own bed and climbed in. He heard her shuffle a little and then settle back down. Harry sighed and rubbed his face. He rolled onto his back and drew the covers up to his chin, willing his body to calm down. He was still aroused from the dream, and he couldn’t even take care of himself—not with Hermione in the next bed, likely lying awake and listening to make sure he was truly all right. Not that he was certain he wanted to touch himself whilst reliving his dream anyway. There was something that made him feel unreasonably ashamed. His face burned and he wished for once that he were alone. He hadn’t even delved into the confusing mess of feelings the dream had evoked, although he knew he would have to eventually. It was a long time before he dropped back into a restless, dream-free sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

When Harry awoke the following morning, the sun was already streaming in through the slats in the window dressing. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and reached over to the bedside table for his glasses. On the way, his hand brushed a piece of parchment. He snagged it and shoved his glasses on his face.

It turned out to be a note from Hermione saying that she'd gone without him to the hospital. She planned to return around eleven-thirty, and she would collect him then. The tone of the note suggested that she thought it best for him to get rest; she probably remembered his nighttime waking and believed that he was having unpleasant dreams. He felt himself flush as he recalled a vastly different kind of dream than she obviously had in mind.

The memory of the dream brought both a mild ache in his cock followed by a flood of embarrassment. He knew he was going to have to deal with it at some point; he decided to get it over with. Casting a hasty tempus charm, he saw that it was only a few minutes past nine. He couldn't decide whether he was relieved or not that he had plenty of time alone to think.

He considered the dream. To his knowledge, he'd never had such vivid dreams about other men before. When he thought about it, he realised he'd never had dreams of that nature about women, either. Certainly he'd dreamed of Ginny, but those had all been comparatively innocent. His only fear had been that Ron would discover he subconsciously wanted to kiss her. He recalled waking up sticky now and again, but he never actually remembered what brought it on—only the feeling, right before waking, of intense pleasure or sometimes merely the sensation of relieving himself. It wasn't something he'd ever talked about with anyone; after all, who would he have talked to? There was an unspoken rule that no one mentioned it; everyone just dealt with his own. Charms to clean oneself were among the first thing the older boys passed on to the younger ones, though usually without much accompanying information.

Naturally, he'd done his fair share of wanking, usually in the shower where it would make significantly less mess. Those were nearly always a quick morning release which didn't require much thought. It struck him that of the few times he'd been alone someplace comfortable—the Dursleys' while they were out for the day, for example—he had taken his time, but he hadn't created any elaborate fantasies. He'd convinced himself that it would be wrong to imagine Ginny that way, and it had never occurred to him to picture any other girls he knew. His face heated, however, at the memory of wondering what it would be like to have another boy put his mouth or hands on him. He'd worked hard to avoid thinking about anything else, though he was fairly certain he knew what two men could get up to. At the time, he'd convinced himself that all boys thought about those things. Now he wasn't so sure.

While he considered all this, he had unconsciously begun sliding his hand over his clothed dick and was now more than half-hard. When he realised what he was doing, he didn't stop. Instead, he applied more pressure. Determined to see where this went, he let his mind wander back to the dream, back to being slowly touched by someone else. Someone decidedly not feminine. He groaned softly.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he slid his hand inside his pyjamas and pants. He traced his fingers up and down, hissing through his teeth a little. At last, he pushed his clothing down to his ankles and threw back the bed covers. With one hand, he gently teased, sliding it along the shaft. With the other, he slipped his hand so that he could rub at his balls. Curiosity as well as the actions of the men in his dream got to him, and he slid his fingers down further to touch lightly behind his sac. Slowly, feeling a creeping almost-shame about what he was doing, he placed one finger between his cheeks, simultaneously spreading his legs. He was too embarrassed to actually insert a digit, but he brushed against his hole, wondering what it would feel like.

He wrapped his hand around his now fully erect cock and began to move with increasing speed, still keeping his other hand much lower and his mind on what the dream-men were doing. He imagined that the fair-haired man was sliding his erection between Harry's cheeks, brushing against him the same way he was doing to himself, moaning. The anticipation was almost unbearable. He felt the prickle begin in his spine and work its way down, wrapping around his arse and making his balls tighten and tingle. Almost without warning, he came, choking back a grunt of pleasure as he coated his hand. He continued to stroke more slowly, through the aftershocks, his hips moving slightly. At last he lay still, breathing rapidly.

"Shit," he whispered.

Freeing his imagination had just led to one of the most intensely pleasurable self-exploratory experiences of his life. There was no denying that he found men—and the idea of sex with men—far more arousing than anything he'd ever thought about with women. He had the answer to his own unasked question about his sexuality now. The only difficulty would be in explaining it to everyone else—especially Ginny.

* * *

Harry passed the next two hours waiting for Hermione to return by trying not to think. It didn't work; his mind constantly returned to questioning himself and his own feelings. He supposed he could forgive himself for not realising sooner; after all, he'd had a world to save. Now that he had the freedom to concentrate on something other than defeating a Dark Lord, everything bubbled to the surface—all the times before that he'd noticed men or other boys and found them attractive, and the fact that he hadn't ever felt comfortable with girls at all. He'd assumed it was due to being a bit behind the other boys, which had been embarrassing at the time but not life-changing.

He thought he probably should've known, but even if he had, there wouldn't have been anyone to talk to. There still wasn't; he couldn't think of a single person who might be of help in sorting things out. He knew he had to tell Ginny that he didn't want to start their relationship again, but other than that, he didn't want anyone else to know. He didn't even want to tell Hermione, which meant he had to find a way to cover for his growing anxiety. He put it out of his mind as best he could, hoping she wouldn't notice anything was wrong.

She didn't. When she returned, she had news. Her parents were making rapid progress, and within a week, they could safely be moved from staying at the hospital to returning to their home. They would need to continue treatment for some time to come, but they had been given the choice of returning to England after they were released or remaining in Sydney. They chose to stay, as they had built new lives for themselves.

Their decision was hard on Hermione. She was torn between wanting to beg them to come back with her and knowing that it wouldn't matter either way. Her life was within the Wizarding community now, but she had hoped she could straddle both worlds. She knew that wasn't entirely possible, but she had still wanted to try. She'd expected that she would one day be able to bring her own children to see their grandparents and learn more about their Muggle heritage.

Harry had no experience to offer her. He'd had no contact at all with the Dursleys since the war ended. He didn't care what Vernon and Petunia were doing, though he had wondered about Dudley. Despite that, he had no plans to find any of them or contact them in any way. He also had no idea what it was like to have other extended Muggle family. He knew his mother's parents had been proud and happy to discover their daughter was a witch, but as they were dead, he'd never known what it was like to be the grandson of Muggles, either. On those points—maintaining contact with Muggle parents and raising magical children with Muggle grandparents—he could be of no help to Hermione.

In the end, she opted to remain with them for the rest of their hospital stay and then take the time before the summer term at Hogwarts to tie up lose ends with her parents. After that, she would be fully immersed in the Wizarding world. Perhaps one day her parents might return to England, but until then, she would stay in touch with them the best she could. At least they knew how to use owl post.

Harry stayed with her for the remainder of the week and offered to extend his time there until the trials, but Hermione said it wasn't necessary. Sensing that she mostly just needed time alone with her parents, he returned home. Fortunately, he had the trials to take his mind off his own troubles, followed by just enough time to pack for the summer term. With any luck, he could work out how he was going to talk to Ginny before he actually had to see her.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

Harry left Hermione in Sydney and returned for the trials. He had a couple of days before they started, which he mostly spent planning out what he might say. During that time, his sleep continued to be troubled. Between the impending trials and the anxiety his new self-awareness had produced, his dreams alternated between terrifying and erotic. When he wasn't dreaming of being in a graveyard surrounded by Death Eaters, he was dreaming of attractive fair-haired men. Neither option suited him, and he was frustrated that he hadn't left both kinds of dreams back in his younger adolescence where they belonged.

He managed to get through until the trials, however. The Malfoys' were first. Harry was surprised—and pleased—that the Wizengamot had done away with some of the worst elements of the trials from Voldemort's first rise. It all went better than he'd expected. Somehow, he managed to convey Narcissa Malfoy's involvement without having to divulge the fact that he had, in fact, died. It was a complicated enough scenario that he could pass it off as an artifice which she had discovered and kept secret. When she stepped down, her eyes lingered on Harry's for a moment, and the faintest of smiles passed across her lips. Harry knew he couldn't be nearly as subtle, so he settled for offering her a warm smile in return.

It was no harder to explain the role Draco Malfoy had played in their escape from the Manor. His refusal to identify them had puzzled Harry at the time, grateful though he was. When Malfoy gave his own testimony, Harry was startled by his answer—that he had held out faith in them that they might put an end to the suffering. Their eyes met, and Harry couldn't read what was behind Malfoy's gaze. It made him shiver slightly.

Harry was equally surprised to find Luna Lovegood among the witnesses for the defence and even more surprised to hear her say that it was Draco himself who had kept them alive, no doubt at great personal expense. Harry wondered exactly what he had done for them during their long imprisonment at the Manor.

As it turned out, the Wizengamot didn't required Harry's input on Lucius after all, so the whole thing took less than thirty minutes. Harry supposed he should have felt relieved—his part for the day was over, and he could return home to finish packing for Hogwarts before returning for subsequent trials. He hadn't quite arrived at that particular emotion yet, however. There was still one last task.

Harry hadn't stayed in the room for the sentencing, though he remained outside the door. Should the youngest Malfoy avoid Azkaban, he intended to return his wand and then be done with the lot of them. When the door opened, he pressed himself against the wall to avoid the stream of people filing out. He scanned the crowd, watching for Malfoy. After what seemed like an eternity, he spotted a flash of blond hair and wriggled his way past a few people until he was close enough.

"Oi, Malfoy," he called.

Malfoy glanced back. His face twisted, and he made to turn around again, but by this time Harry had caught up to him. He grabbed Malfoy's shoulder, but Malfoy shrugged him off.

"What do you want?" He scowled.

"I just want to talk to you for a moment."

"Didn't we get enough of that at school?"

Harry almost smiled at that. "Look. I just wanted to give this back to you, that's all." He held out the wand.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and he reached out to touch it with his fingertips. When he looked up again, he was frowning. "You know this won't work for me."

"I—what do you mean?"

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "You didn't just disarm me. You took my wand by force for your own." He shrugged. "You keep it. You're its master now."

"I didn't realise. I'm sorry." Harry lowered the hand holding Malfoy's wand.

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever. I'll have a new one made." He turned his back on Harry and stalked away.

Harry was left feeling strangely unsatisfied by that conversation.

* * *

Harry's second revelation about himself came on the afternoon of the Malfoys' trials. In order to take his mind off things, he decided to simply enjoy the rest of his day doing some of the things he hadn't done much whilst living with the Dursleys. For one thing, he'd always wondered what became of the snake he'd inadvertently set free. He thought a trip to the zoo might be in order.

It was easy enough to find the reptile house again, and he stood in front of the Brazilian boa constrictor's exhibit much as he had done seven years earlier. He didn't think it looked like the same snake, but he wasn't entirely sure. Of course, there wasn't a way to ask anyway, so instead, he simply stood there watching the exhibit's current occupant slither around.

It was beautiful, all shining, scaly skin and lithe movements. Harry was utterly fascinated. He had never feared snakes, really. Whether that was a function of having been able to talk to them or merely that he wasn't particularly squeamish, he didn't know. He watched the snake move about for a long time, and he was just going to leave when it slithered up to the glass. He tilted his head to the side and made eye contact.

_Hello, friend_ , she said. So, not the same snake after all.

Harry's heart beat wildly. Startled, he stepped back. Regaining himself, he moved closer to the glass. _I can understand you_ , he told her.

_Of course_ , she replied. _Otherwise, I wouldn't have bothered with you_.

_Do you know what happened to the one who used to live in here?_ he asked, curious.

She moved her head side-to-side. _Rumor has it he went to Brazil_.

Harry chuckled. His old friend seemed to have made it after all. _Do you have a name?_

_The workers call me Samantha._ If snakes could roll their eyes, Harry had the distinct impression that 'Samantha' would be doing just that. _My real name is—_ She hissed something Harry couldn't understand even with his ability to speak her language.

_I don't think I can pronounce that_. Harry shrugged apologetically.

_That's all right. Samantha is fine too._

_I need to go, but it was good meeting you_ , Harry told her.

_Will you visit again? The other humans don't talk to me._

_Count on it. Goodbye for now._

_Goodbye, new friend_. The snake slithered away.

Harry wandered out of the reptile house. He'd had no idea he could still speak Parseltongue. Not only that, it seemed to be stronger than it had been. He'd understood the snake perfectly and had not had any difficulty at all communicating. He reflected that it might have been because she was alive; that had always been easier anyway. It was worth exploring that further, as well as figuring out how he could still speak it even after destroying whatever Voldemort had put in his head.

He returned home, determined to find out why that particular skill was still manifesting. He didn't think there was anything else left from his connection to Voldemort, so how was it that he could still talk to the snake at the zoo? The only other wizards he'd ever heard of who could do it had been more than a little Dark, with the possible exception of Slytherin himself—and that was never entirely clear. Harry supposed there must have been something in his family tree, but he had no idea where to start.

While he was pondering, he wandered through the house and found himself in the same room with the Black family tapestry. He stared up at it, noticing the burn marks where Sirius and Andromeda Tonks should have been. His eyes roamed upwards, and he noticed several burns higher up. As he passed, he spotted something. There was a name, partway up on the right side of the tapestry, one generation above Sirius'. Harry made a mental note of it: Charlus Potter.

He hadn't expected to find anything on the Black family tree that pertained to himself. He wondered what relationship he might have to Charlus Potter. Could that have been his father's father? Studying the tapestry, it was impossible to tell. As Dorea Black and Charlus Potter had not been burned out of existence, they obviously had not been the subjects of Black family wrath. It was not clear whether they'd had any children; none were mentioned, but that could have been due to their relative unimportance or simply lack of space on the tapestry.

Harry entertained the notion of asking Phineas Nigellus, but he quickly squashed it. Phineas Nigellus was snide and unhelpful on his best days, and he was still sore at Harry for allowing Hermione to steal his portrait and blindfold him. He would be of no use in tracking Harry's connection to the Blacks. Instead, Harry decided to search the house for any old parchments that might contain clues to the mysterious Charlus Potter. Surely there would be something. He left the tapestry and headed up to the attic.

After an hour of poking around in various boxes and drawers, Harry located a hand-drawn version of the family tree which was much more complete and took up an entire roll of parchment. He scanned it for the Potters. When he located them, he was disappointed to discover that it was clear they were not his grandparents. But there was a note beside Charlus indicating that he was the only suitable one of his brothers for marriage. It was certain the Black family had some concerns for Dorea's choice of husband, though not enough to erase her from memory. It appeared they did not have any children after all, and both had been relatively young when they died—only in their fifties.

Harry looked for a bit longer before deciding he wouldn't find what he wanted there. When he returned to the Ministry for the next set of trials, he would ask Kingsley for a look inside the library for family records. Surely he could find what he needed there. He left the attic and headed back down the stairs to ask Kreacher for a cup of tea. He was in want of something to calm his nerves after his discovery. He certainly hoped, for the sake of his sanity, that he could find a logical explanation for the reappearance of a gift he thought had died with Voldemort.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

On the sixth of June, Harry arrived in Hogsmeade. He had told Ron and Hermione that he would meet them at Hogwarts rather than travelling with them. It had been under the pretence of wanting to put a few things in order before leaving Kreacher to tend to the house, but in truth it was to avoid the Burrow. There were far too many things he couldn't manage just then, including finding a way to break things off permanently with Ginny. Besides that, he still felt uncomfortable intruding on the festering grief in that household.

Inside the castle, everyone congregated in the Great Hall. There would be no feast, but the house-elves were prepared to provide for the incoming students before they received their instructions. Harry was pleased to see that most of the professors had returned. Professor Flitwick was limping, and he looked far older than Harry had remembered, but he appeared to be in good spirits. Even Slughorn was there, though Harry had heard that he would be retiring for good after the summer.

Harry looked around. There were no house tables as such, though students seemed to have grouped themselves mostly by house nonetheless. He glanced at his own table and felt a prickle of grief at those who were not present. Lavender and Seamus were still at St. Mungo's, and it wasn't clear whether Lavender would ever emerge. Despite months of being on the run, and the subsequent educational gap, Dean hadn't returned either. There were missing places for the dead, too—Colin Creevy among them.

It was heartening, on the other hand, to see how many of the former DA were in attendance. Harry supposed that he should have assumed most of them would want to complete their education and rebuild the castle. As Harry's eyes travelled the room, several people met his gaze and gave faint smiles or nods in his direction.

Just as Harry was about to turn to Neville and Hermione, who were swapping stories about what they'd been doing for the past month, his eye caught sight of the very last person he'd been expecting. He elbowed Ron.

"What the hell is Malfoy doing here?"

Ron turned to him. "Hm?"

"Malfoy. Why is he here? Surely he doesn't need to be."

Ron shrugged. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?" Harry frowned. How would he possibly have known anything about Malfoy?

"You were at the trial. I figured you knew. This is part of his sentence. I only know because of something Dad said before we left." Ron rolled his eyes. "About being kind to him. If you ask me, Dad's gone a bit soft."

Harry tried to redirect the conversation back to Malfoy. "Coming back here to torment us was part of his sentence? Just what made anyone think that was a good idea?" Harry scowled, remembering their last conversation. This was guaranteed to make the eight weeks seem more like eighty.

Ron waved his hand. "Reparations or something. I heard his father had to pay an enormous amount in damages, most of which should go to fixing up this place."

Harry sighed, and his eyes drifted back to Malfoy, who was now talking with two very pretty girls. They looked nearly enough alike to be twins, but Harry could see that they were not. He thought he recognised the shorter, curvier one as having been in their year; he remembered that she was called Daphne. He wasn't sure of the other one's name. At that precise moment, Malfoy happened to look up. He caught sight of Harry and offered a small smirk, one that plainly said he was enjoying the attention of the two witches. Harry just huffed and rolled his eyes before turning back to Ron.

"I wonder when we'll get our assignments," he said, intent on taking his mind off Malfoy.

It didn't quite work. The whole time Ron was talking, Harry's thoughts wandered. He wondered how Malfoy would survive as one of only a few Slytherins who had returned. Obviously the pretty sisters he'd been chatting up were there, along with a couple of younger students and—strangely—Millicent Bullstrode. Harry had a good idea why most of them hadn't returned, even the ones who had made it out alive. He suspected they wouldn't feel especially welcome at the moment. Harry had the odd feeling that this left Malfoy unprotected somehow.

He shook his head. He'd been obsessed with Malfoy all through school because he'd been such a prat, and then he'd been obsessed because he pitied Malfoy. Now he was bordering on madness, being obsessed for its own sake. He decided that he should just put Malfoy out of his mind. Professor McGonagall wasn't foolish enough to assign them anywhere near each other during the rebuilding, and they wouldn't have to see each other at any other point either, if they didn't want to. Absolutely certain that he _didn't_ want to, Harry returned his focus to the food on his plate.

* * *

Professor McGonagall had assigned all the students to groups in a manner that made sense to no one but her; they weren't by age, ability, or area of strength. Each group had a different part of the castle to repair each day on a rotating basis; they were to take their lessons with a different set of students. Tasks included physical repair of the building; re-setting spells, charms, and wards; fixing and tidying decor; restoring the greenhouses and grounds; and replenishing potions stock. Half of the eighty-two returning students would work in the morning and the other half in the afternoon.

He had been separated from most of his friends—and, as he had suspected, Malfoy—although he was pleased to find Neville assigned to the same work group and Ginny in his lessons group. He wondered whether the separation had been intentional and whether it had been for the castle's benefit or his own. It was likely a mixture of the two.

It was an unfortunate reality, but Harry and Ron probably should have been separated from one another sooner. They never had been much good at completing homework when the possibility of talking Quidditch or playing chess had loomed in the background. It had also been far too easy to rely on Hermione's exceptional skill when it came to class assignments. In truth, Harry was a decent student when he set his mind to it. He'd managed to receive good marks all through, and not all of that was because he'd been allowed to copy from Hermione. Besides, the amount of actual copying he'd done was greatly exaggerated—she'd mostly just gone over his work and made suggestions for change.

Harry spent the better part of the first day in the entryway, repairing the walls and re-casting the protective charms laced through the stones. It was remarkable how easily the castle complied with the students' magic, seeming to urge it along as they repaired the damage. Despite that, it was still _work_ , and there was a lot of it. It would be a miracle if they could restore everything in time for school to begin in September. The little aid they received from the ministry was barely enough to cover what the students didn't have the skill to fix, but there was no way anyone else could be spared—there was devastation in every corner of the Wizarding world.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, but it was difficult. Whenever they had a spare moment, his mind drifted between how he was going to talk to Ginny and what he might tell his friends. Ron and Hermione had both been on him about it, with Ron reminding him that there were heavy penalties for hurting his sister. Hermione just thought that he ought to be honest with her if he'd changed his mind. Bitterly, Harry thought about how _they_ didn't have anything to worry about. After all, they'd managed to sort themselves out weeks before. He was just glad Ron hadn't taken the same route with Hermione that he had with Lavender. He wasn't sure he could stomach Hermione suddenly taking to calling him 'Won-Won' or putting her tongue down his throat in the common room.

Harry was brought back to reality by Professor Flitwick rapping him on the back of the legs with his cane to get his attention. "Potter!" he snapped. "Pay attention to the charm you're casting, or you're going to set something on fire."

Sighing, Harry silently threatened to Obliviate himself if he didn't stop perseverating on his personal life during school hours. It certainly wouldn't do to explode something and reverse the hard work he'd done all morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do Ginny-bashing (or any character-bashing, really). If you like that, you'll need to find it elsewhere. The reason I don't have bitchy!Ginny in this chapter is that I have always felt that she was such a strong person but ended up unfairly cast as "hero's girl." You know what? Let her have her own life for a change--maybe that's what she really wants, after all.

**VI**

Harry knew he needed to talk to Ginny alone. He'd put it off for far too long already. She'd been eyeing him across the common room or from where she sat during meals. For the three day's they'd been back, he had busied himself with the spellwork and repairs and had thus managed to avoid any contact. He couldn't keep it up any longer, however, especially with Ron poking him in the side and Hermione giving him meaningful looks every time Ginny was within range.

At the end of the day on Thursday, he gave up and sought her out. She was definitely more clever than he had given her credit for; she was waiting for him.

"Gin, we need to—"

"Come on," she said, not waiting for him to finish. "I know where we can go."

Surprised, Harry let Ginny lead him out of the Great Hall and into one of the corridors. She dragged him into an empty classroom and closed the door. While she cast a locking charm, he muttered a hasty _Muffliato_. He was going to have to be honest—she deserved no less—but he didn't need anyone else listening in at the keyhole.

Ginny settled herself down on top of one of the tables, her long legs crossed underneath her. She shook her hair back over her shoulders and fixed her gaze on Harry. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

"It sounded like you were going to say we need to talk," she said, her tone rather business-like.

Harry suddenly felt as though he were being cross-examined by the entire Wizengamot. He scratched the back of his neck. "The thing is . . ." He cleared his throat. "I don't, er, want to start up where we left off last summer."

"So, you're breaking up with me. Officially, that is."

He nodded miserably, willing her to understand. He mentally prepared himself to explain.

"Oh, thank Merlin."

Harry's head snapped up in time to see Ginny grinning at him. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

"I was trying to figure out how to tell you that I don't want to, either," she said.

"Hang on . . . Why not?"

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, Harry saw the determined glint and remembered so many of the things he'd liked about her, the things that had made him hope it was love. She said, "I lived without you for nearly a year. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. At first, I was angry. Angry that you didn't want to take me with you, angry that you left me to be tortured here." She shrugged. "But I figured out how to survive, and it made me realise some things. Like that I don't need my brothers or my boyfriend to protect me and that I don't need to be with someone to be whole."

Harry crossed the space between them and swung himself up to sit on the table next to Ginny. "Go on," he said.

"I love you—I do—but it's different. Being apart taught me that maybe I needed to let you go because I was more in love with the _idea_ of you than I was in love with _you_." She took his hand. "Are you angry?"

Startled, Harry laughed a little. "Angry? No, of course not. I came up here to end things, and I was worried you'd be upset. But here you are, saying a lot of what I wanted to say."

Ginny laughed too, and the sound was freeing. "Perhaps we're just too young," she suggested.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's it," he said. "At least, not for me."

Ginny tilted her head to the side a little. "Then what is it?"

His palms were clammy and his chest felt tight. He hadn't even said anything to Hermione or Ron. He cleared his throat. "Er."

"Harry?" Ginny's voice shook a little, and he knew she thought that there had been someone else in her place.

"I'm gay," he blurted and promptly buried his head in his hands, realising that probably hadn't been the best way to tell her.

"Oh!" Ginny put a hand over her mouth. She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then lowered her hand. "Warn me next time," she grouched.

Harry laughed, the tension pouring out of him. "I'm sorry. I don't have any practise. You're, er, the first person I've told, actually."

"I suppose I should be flattered, then." Ginny smiled. She reached out for Harry, and he put his arms around her and drew her close.

They stayed that way for some time, and he absorbed the warmth from her body. A small part of him ached; they had always fit together comfortably. He had supposed that they would go on this way forever—perhaps be married and have children he could name after all the loved ones he had lost. That dream had ended, and both of them would need to find new ones.

"Fred," Ginny whispered, breaking the silence.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Ginny had never been one for sudden emotions, and he had never been good at dealing with them anyway. "I'm sorry," he said lamely.

Ginny pulled away. "No, I mean there's something—did you know Fred liked boys?"

"He—what?"

She frowned. "I mean, he liked girls, too, as far as I know. But…" She paused, seemingly trying to find the right words. "I think he had sort of a—sort of a crush on you, actually," she finished.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't he have said anything?"

"For the same reason that up until ten minutes ago, I was afraid you wanted to get back together. He assumed you were straight."

"Up until a month ago, I assumed the same thing," Harry admitted.

"Well, there you go, then."

"So, how did you know?"

"I wasn't sure, at first. He just kept talking about you. But I was suspicious because George never ribbed him about it. He teased him endlessly about Angelina, even though they were never really together—it was just the Yule ball. And he kept after him about Fleur's cousins, too. But he never said one word about the way Fred talked about _you_."

"Did you ever ask why?"

"I did, finally. George just told me to shut up and mind my own business But he said that if I ever told you that I knew anything, I would be sorry. That's nothing like his usual threats, so I knew I was right."

"God. I wish I'd known."

Ginny punched him lightly. "Why, so you could have gone after him instead of me?"

Harry glared at her, but there wasn't any heat behind it. "No. He really wasn't my type. But it might have sped up the process in figuring things out myself, you know?"

"Your type? Are you saying you have a type?"

Harry felt his face heat up at the memory of his recurring dreams. _Yes, I think like blonds. A little on the thin side. Neither smooth nor hairy._ "No," he said hastily. "I just meant that I couldn't have lived with the constant pranks." He thought for a moment. "It probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway. I didn't recognise that I had a crush on one of your other brothers."

"You did?" Ginny smirked, but it faded quickly. " _Please_ tell me it wasn't Ron."

"No, not Ron. That's…creepy. And weird."

"Which one, then?"

"Er. Bill," he confessed. "The first time I met him, I thought he was really good-looking. But I convinced myself I just thought he was cool."

"Well, he _is_ cool. And not gay." She giggled.

"Funny, I never would have thought it of Fred. Charlie, maybe, or Percy."

Ginny laughed harder. "Charlie says he's married to his work, but I'm pretty sure it's that likes having the freedom use the dragons to impress women into a shag. And Percy's just swotty."

Harry was laughing now as well, and he finally felt relaxed. Whatever tension there had been was long since gone. "Yeah, I can see that."

When they finally calmed down, Ginny said, "Are you going to tell Ron and Hermione? They deserve to know, I think. They've been your friends forever."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not ready yet. And no matter how I say it, Ron's going to think I broke your heart."

She looked at him, and Harry had the same sensation he'd always had with Dumbledore, the one where his very soul was exposed. "I can only cover for you for so long, Harry. You need to let them back in." She laid her hand on his chest, right over his heart.

"I know, and I will. Give me time."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "All right. And don't worry about Ron protecting me. When you're ready, I'll do whatever you need me to." She hopped down from the table, gave his hand one last squeeze, and flicked her wand at the door to unlock it.

Harry, too, climbed down. He cancelled the spell he'd set and followed Ginny out of the classroom. One down, the entire rest of the Wizarding world to go.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

Harry couldn't get back to sleep. He'd turned in early in order to avoid conversation, particularly of the are-you-and-Ginny-back-together variety. The work they'd done all week was tiring, which meant that no-one found it strange that he wanted to go to bed. Now, however, he was regretting that decision. He'd already had about four hours of sleep and wasn't in the mood for more just then.

Deciding that staring at the curtains wasn't worth it, he crept out of bed and fished out his invisibility cloak. He held it for a moment, still in awe of what it meant, before slipping it on and padding out of the room. He sneaked through the portrait hole and stepped into the deserted corridor.

There was really no need for the cloak. He wouldn't run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, and even Peeves was keeping a respectable distance these days. In fact, the students didn't have nearly the usual number of restrictions, perhaps as a counter to the previous year's oppressive atmosphere. Still, Harry didn't want to be discovered by anyone on his travels. He shivered a little as his bare feet touched the stones. He decided that next time he was in the mood for a nighttime wander, he would wear socks; it made him chuckle a little at the thought that Dumbledore had been right about that after all.

He didn't have a plan, really. He thought he would just wander until he was tired enough to return to bed. Something was drawing him, though, and he was never sure later what it was. Perhaps it was some magic of Hogwarts, a desire on the part of the almost-sentient castle to heal itself. It might have been some latent remnant of the Founders, calling down through the years. Maybe it was something else he couldn't fathom. Whatever it was, Harry found himself moments later staring at the blank stretch of wall in the seventh floor corridor. He stood there for a long time, wondering what it was he should ask for.

For some unfathomable reason, the thought occurred to Harry that the Room of Requirement had drawn him there because of something _it_ wanted rather than something _he_ wanted. He wasn't sure how to frame a query, however. At last he settled on simply whispering, "I need you to show me what you want." He paced, keeping his eyes closed as he had done so long before when he'd wanted to find out Malfoy's secret project. When he opened his eyes again, the door was visible. He held his breath and turned the handle.

Harry gasped at the sight that met him. The room looked nothing like the way he remembered it on any of his previous visits. It wasn't the open space it had been when the DA met there nor the refuge it had been for hiding students. It wasn't even the crowded, messy place it had been when he'd gone in search of the diadem or to leave Snape's old book behind. Instead, it was a blackened, charred mess. The fiendfyre had destroyed every last thing in the room, and now it was full of burnt lumps and soot. The walls were cracked and peeling, covered in inky ash. As Harry stood there peering inside, something wet began to drip slowly down the walls and the whole thing heaved gently to and fro.

The room was crying.

Harry stood there, his mind racing. The Room had wanted him to see it, to see what had become of its magic. It had responded when he asked it what it wanted, and Harry assumed that meant it wanted to be restored just like the rest of the castle. He had no earthly idea where to begin. At last, unable to bear looking at the ruined Room any longer, he turned around and left, tiptoeing through the silent corridors back to the dormitory.

* * *

All through his work the next day, Harry was unable to shake the image of the ruined Room from his mind. The weeping walls haunted him, and he could think of little else. For once, he was finally distracted from his own inner turmoil. There had to be something he could do, but he had no idea how the Room's magic worked. He considered telling Hermione, but something stopped him. They'd lost a bit of their connection since returning from Australia; his own fear of being honest about himself kept even his closest friends at arms length. It was as though even the tiniest crack and he would be incapable of holding anything back from them.

By the time everyone had finished supper and retired to the dormitories, no one felt much like moving; they were all too exhausted. Weary students draped themselves over the common room furniture, and though there was light talking, the sound was low.

Harry, situated in a soft chair in the corner, dozed a little. When he woke, the sun had gone down and most of the others were heading to bed. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to tell someone about the Room. He glanced over at the sofa where Ron and Hermione were stretched out. She was leaning against him, a book in her hand; his arm was draped protectively across her middle, and he was playing with her curls with his free hand. Harry smiled faintly. He thought briefly about telling them what he'd seen when he'd gone to the seventh floor, but they seemed content. He was reluctant to bother them.

There weren't many people he trusted, however; aside from Ron and Hermione, the only other person he would have considered was Neville. He let his eyes wander the room, and he saw that it was now nearly empty—even Neville wasn't there. His gaze landed on Ginny, who was curled up in a chair by the window. She, too, had a book open, but she wasn't reading it. She was looking out the window into the deepening night sky. As though she sensed she was being watched, she slowly turned her head.

Harry had been caught out; he couldn't do anything other than offer a tentative smile, which she returned. He had an idea, which he very nearly stuffed back down for fear of doing something that would shred the friendship to which they'd agreed. _Screw it_ , he thought, and he forced himself to stand and join Ginny by the window.

"Can I show you something?" he asked quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear.

Ginny frowned. "What is it?"

"It's not here. Can you come with me someplace?"

"I—why aren't you asking Ron or Hermione?"

He glanced over his shoulder to the sofa, and Ginny craned her neck so she could see around him. He said, "That's why."

"Oh." She set the book on the table next to her. "All right."

He put his finger to his lips, warning her to keep quiet. He stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. Without a word, they padded across the common room and slipped out. The corridor was cool and slightly damp. It was still early enough that Harry wasn't worried about what to say if they met anyone, though he was hesitant to imply that he was doing anything with Ginny other than having a pleasant evening stroll. Fortunately, everyone else seemed to be as tired as his own house-mates, and they didn't encounter anyone else on the way.

He led Ginny through the castle and up to the seventh floor. They stood there, staring at the blank stretch of wall. Ginny tilted her head in question, but she said nothing.

"Right then. We need to ask it what it wants," he told her. "That's how I got in last time. I think the Room doesn't work otherwise, but I'm not really sure."

"O-okay." Ginny shrugged, but Harry heard the note of uncertainty.

They paced, and when they stopped, the door was there. Harry grasped the handle. "Wait. Before we go in, you should know that it's not—it's not good."

Ginny nodded, and Harry returned it. He turned the handle and opened the door.

He felt her shift beside him, and she let out a gasp. He reached for her hand and took it, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They stood that way for what seemed like hours while Ginny took it all in—the ash, the soot, the weeping Room.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

"Fiendfyre," he replied, but he didn't elaborate, and she didn't press.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "It's like…it's almost like it's alive, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

She turned to face him. There was a glint in her eye, and Harry remembered again why he'd liked her so much. "Right. This Room—it kept us safe for nearly a year, and it's provided for us when we needed it. We need to help it."

Harry slumped with relief. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Not just the two of us, though. I think maybe I want to tell Neville, too, since hiding in here was his idea. And we'll need Hermione, of course."

Harry grinned. "You mean we'll need Hermione to go to the library for us."

"That too." She paused. "You saw how exhausted everyone was, though. Are we going to be able to do this after we've worked all day?"

"I honestly don't know," Harry admitted. "I just know I can't leave it like this. I asked it what it wanted, and it wants to be repaired like the rest of the castle. Except it never would be, because it wouldn't occur to anyone else to know it needed fixing."

Ginny started. "What do you mean, no one else knows?"

"They don't know it was destroyed, do they?" As far as Harry knew, of the six people who knew about the fiendfyre, one was dead, one was carrying out a sentence for war crimes, and the other four were at Hogwarts. He was fairly certain Ron and Hermione hadn't told anyone about it, and he doubted Malfoy would have had the desire to implicate himself further.

"I was wondering about that myself. How exactly did it get destroyed by fiendfyre, anyway?"

Harry sighed. "It's a pretty long story."

"I have time," Ginny said, resting her hand on his arm.

"All right. But not in here." He stepped back out into the hallway. Once Ginny had followed, he shut the door behind him.

They found a secluded alcove and settled in. Harry wasn't sure where to begin. He'd assumed, the night the war ended, that he and Ginny would resume their relationship and he would fill her in on all the details. He'd thought about it at the time but decided against it, opting instead for a sandwich and sleep. Now, as they sat facing one another in the alcove, he was preparing to talk to her under very different circumstances than the ones he'd imagined.

"Well," he finally said, "the whole thing started with why we left last year."


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

It took all Harry's concentration not to think about the impending conversation he and Ginny planned to have with their closest friends that night. He could already anticipate their reactions. Neville was likely to respond in much the same way Ginny had—Harry was certain he would want to do whatever he could to repair the Room. Hermione might try to talk them out of it, but in the end she would help them. As for Ron, that was up for debate. Harry was no longer sure he could gauge what would happen.

It wasn't as though things had changed between them, exactly, and Ron had shown incredible trust in suggesting Harry accompany Hermione to Australia. Harry had to remind himself that Ron still didn't know just how right he was that there was nothing to worry about. It was just that too much around them had changed and neither was quite sure how to navigate their friendship in the wake of it all.

At last the day's work was compete and they had settled down in the common room. Ginny, who was situated between Harry and Hermione, nudged him with her knee and gave him a meaningful look, her eyebrows arched and her lips pursed. He nodded. It was now or never. She stood up and crossed the room to where Neville sat enjoying a book with a large, vicious-looking plant on the front.

Harry watched them as Ginny spoke, though he couldn't hear anything they were saying. Neville looked surprised, glanced at Harry and the others, and shook his head. Ginny was persistent, though, and in a moment Neville accompanied her back to the sofa.

Harry cleared his throat quietly, and Hermione glanced over. "I have something to tell you," he began.

Hermione put her own book down and jostled Ron's shoulder. He startled from his state of semi-sleep. "Wha-a-a?" he yawned.

"I need to tell you something," Harry repeated. "Or rather, show you. It's probably better if you see it."

Ron frowned sleepily. "Can't it wait until morning?"

Harry shook his head. "No. We need to go look when no-one will bother asking us about it."

Hermione leaned forward. "Can you at least tell us what this is about?"

He sighed. "All right. It's the Room of Requirement."

Ron frowned. "Thought that was ruined by the fiend—" He stopped when Hermione poked him.

"It's okay. Ginny knows, and we can tell Neville," Harry confirmed. "And it wasn't completely destroyed." He stood up. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

The others glanced at each other, with the exception of Ginny. She had remained standing when she'd returned with Neville, and she moved closer to Harry. He shot her a grateful look.

"Fine," Ron said at last. "It's bound to be more interesting than watching Hermione read that book _again_."

Harry almost laughed when he saw that Hermione was holding her beloved copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. He supposed she was looking for anything that might aid her in her work, but it was amazing that she didn't have it so thoroughly memorised she didn't even need to open it anymore. Hermione just huffed and tucked the book into her robes.

"Come on, then," Harry said.

They slipped out of the common room, and Harry was grateful yet again that the few students who remained behind were too tired to find any significance in their actions. He led them to the deserted seventh floor corridor and stopped in front of the blank wall.

"We have to ask it what it wants," Harry explained. "There's no other way to get in anymore."

Once the door appeared, Harry opened it without preamble.

"Whoa," Ron muttered; Hermione choked back a scream.

"My God," Neville breathed. "What the hell happened in here?"

"Fiendfyre," Harry said. "Crabbe unleashed it in here the night I—the night of the final battle."

Hermione had recovered herself, at least on the outside. She turned to Harry. "I suppose the reason you showed us this is that you think we can repair it."

"I was hoping so, yes."

She made a thoughtful noise. "It's bad," she said, "but I think there's a chance we can restore it."

"Really?" Harry said, hopeful, at the exact moment Ron said, " _Hermione_!" in the exasperated tone of someone rather less keen on another project.

"Yes. The fact that we can open the room means it's not beyond help. It would be easy to clean it, but I'm convinced that's not the only damage that was done. If it won't open for anything other than asking what it wants, that means the magic of the Room has been compromised. I don't know what it would take to re-cast the spells."

"But you think it can be done?"

"Yes. It will require some research, though, and this time, I'm not doing all the reading by myself."

Ron groaned. The sound made Harry smile; he was glad to see that some things never changed. "All right. So what do we do first—clean the room, or look in the library?"

"Some of both, I think. We don't all need to be in both places. Harry, what do you want to do?"

"I think I'd rather start by cleaning it. I was the one it asked for help first, after all."

"All right. Ron, why don't you and I start with the library and let the others work on the cleaning? We'll have some time on Saturday."

"Too bad we can't just find it in _Hogwarts, A History_ ," Ron grumbled. "Fine. I'll help you research."

Neville sniggered. "Think you'll get much work done?"

"We'd better," Hermione answered.

Ron scowled. "That's exactly the problem," he said, barely loud enough to be heard.

* * *

Harry continued sneaking into the Room of Requirement after everyone else was asleep. He was both horrified and fascinated at the devastation, and he simply could not wait until the weekend to begin work on it. He experimented a bit to see if he was right about the Room only opening in response to its pleas for help. He discovered that the only other thing the Room would respond to was a request for safety. It made sense, in a way—it was what the Room had been used for the entire previous year. Somehow, that must have been imprinted into its magical memory.

When he was in there, Harry cleaned. He swept sooty piles and bundled rubbish and gently washed walls. It was tedious, even with magic, but after several nights of this, it was already looking much better. Too much better, in fact. Harry wondered how he seemed to be making considerably more progress than he should have. He shrugged it off, figuring it was some secret magic of the Room supplementing his own skill. At that rate, and with the others helping at the weekend, they might finish tidying ahead of schedule. Then they could pour everyone's attention into figuring out how to fix the Room's magic.

It was later than usual one night when he slipped out of the dormitory to retreat to the Room. He padded down the hallway in his thin pyjamas, his socks making no noise against the cool stones. When he stood in the corridor and pulled off the invisibility cloak, he sensed something wasn't right. As he made to walk past the blank spot on the wall, he realised what it was: the door was already present. Curious, he pushed it open.

Inside, seated on the floor with his back against the only clean wall, was Malfoy.

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He knew he should turn around and leave. He didn't want to wind up arguing and hexing each other; he remembered vividly what had happened the last time he'd stumbled upon Malfoy. He had just made up his mind to back out quietly when Malfoy's eyes opened. He stared at Harry for several seconds before his face clouded over and he scowled.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy spat.

"I could ask you the same thing." Harry crossed his arms and stood resolutely in the doorway.

"I'm sitting, obviously."

Harry was never entirely sure later what made him do it. Rather than leave Malfoy alone, which he admitted he probably should have, he advanced further into the room. When Malfoy made no move to stop him, Harry crossed the floor and seated himself on Malfoy's right. Malfoy glanced at him and lifted one eyebrow, but he said nothing.

"Not going to hex me this time, are you?" Harry asked.

Instead of snapping back, Malfoy merely huffed and rested his head against the wall again. "Whatever."

"Why did you come here?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at him sideways. "What kind of ridiculous question is that, Potter? You and everyone else all know exactly why I'm here. It's how I avoided Azkaban."

Harry shrugged. "Making conversation. And I didn't mean here at Hogwarts. I meant here in this room."

He saw Malfoy roll his eyes. "We don't make conversation. We insult each other and move on, remember?"

"I remember," Harry replied dryly. "Just thought I might try something different for a change."

Malfoy sighed. "Fine, then. I came in here because I couldn't sleep." He eyed Harry. "Were you following me again?"

Harry was mildly surprised. "You knew about that?"

"You're not exactly subtle. My question still stands, though."

"No, I wasn't following you. I've been in here every night since we returned to school." Harry drew up his knees and rested his arms on them.

Draco's eyes widened. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

They didn't say anything else for a while; the silence was awkward. At last Draco broke it by excusing himself to return to his dormitory. He left with a final puzzled glance at Harry. Harry reflected that it had been strange, sitting there with Malfoy, but not as unpleasant as he would have expected. He wondered if Malfoy would return to the Room again and chastised himself for thinking that it wouldn't be all that bad if he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

When Hermione sat down next to Harry in the common room three nights later, he wasn't surprised to hear her say, "I found something."

"But?" he prompted. There was always a 'but'.

"You're not going to like it."

He laid down the book he'd been reading and angled himself towards her. "Just tell me."

By this time, Ron, Ginny, and Neville had joined them, having figured out what they were discussing. Hermione looked around at them.

She extended a thin book to Harry. The cover said, _Hidden and Forbidden: Uncovering the Secrets of Magical Caches_.

"Well, I was right, and there's a way to fix the room, but it's complicated magic." She fidgeted.

"Looks like we were right about not finding it in _Hogwarts, A History_ , then," Ron said.

"Actually," Hermione said, "It _is_ in there." She opened the thin book. "This explains how to create magical rooms for hiding family treasures and such, but there's a lot of theory regarding other types of hidden grottoes. It's much bigger on the inside than it looks, and it explains how to find information concealed within other volumes. Our History of Magic textbook, for example. There's a short chapter in _Hogwarts, a History_ on hidden spaces within the castle, of course, but that only refers to magical storage expansion. It took me a while, and several revealing spells, but I finally found what we need right inside our own history book."

"Get to the point," Harry told her.

"The Room was created by the Founders. In order to restore it, we need people proficient in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence to weave magic into the walls."

"And?" Harry prompted. "I'm sensing there's an 'and'."

"And…we need someone from each House to represent the Founders."

Harry sighed. He supposed he should have expected that. "It shouldn't be too hard to find a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff at least," he said, avoiding saying what he was sure the others were thinking.

"There's more," Hermione said.

"What more could there possibly be?" Ron chimed in. "It's bad enough we have to find a Slytherin we trust."

Hermione didn't speak for a moment. At last she said, "We need someone who can brew a potion that will temporarily link your magic to each other and to the Room."

There were groans from all around Harry. Not only did they need to find trustworthy friends, they also needed people who would be willing to link themselves with a possible enemy. It wasn't likely to go well.

"We have to link our magic?" Ron asked. "Bloody hell. No one's going to want to be magically bound to Millicent Bullstrode, Hermione."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ron. It's not a love potion. It lets you tap into each other's magic temporarily and with full knowledge of what you're doing."

"Still," Harry said, "who would we convince?"

"Let's start with who we think might be willing," Hermione suggested. "We need someone from every House."

"Luna," Ginny said. "She knows about the Room from the DA, and we know she's trustworthy. Plus, she's good at Transfiguration."

"She is?" Harry was surprised.

"Yeah. She's weird, but there's a reason she's in Ravenclaw."

"Good," Hermione said. "What about Hufflepuff?"

"Hannah Abbott," Neville said automatically, then flushed crimson.

"Neville!" Ginny squeaked. "So that's where you've been sneaking off to!"

He kept his head down, but he was grinning. "Hannah was in the DA, too. And I'm not going to tell you how I know that she's good at Charms." He reddened again.

"Ought to be Harry for us, I think," Hermione said, and the others nodded in agreement. "That covers both Gryffindor and Defence."

"That just leaves Slytherin, and we'd better hope whoever it is can do Potions," Ron said.

"Can't you brew the potion, Hermione?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I can if I have to, but it would be better to have someone who is part of the spell."

There was silence, and Harry thought he knew why. No-one wanted to say it. After a few tense minutes, he finally said, "It'll have to be Malfoy, then."

Ron groaned. "Couldn't it be someone else?" he asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "Would you rather have Millicent Bullstrode?" he asked. When the others all remained silent, Harry continued, "We don't really know the others, and I doubt the younger students even know the room exists. Also, and I really hate to admit this because he was such a prick to us in class, but Malfoy's always been pretty good at Potions."

They looked around at each other, eventually all nodding in agreement. Finally Ron said, "Who gets the good luck to have to ask him?"

When no-one said anything, Harry sighed. "Fine. I'll do it."

* * *

Because no-one was foolish enough to assign Harry and Malfoy to the same parts of the castle, Harry's next opportunity to speak to Malfoy was at dinner the following night. He would have waited, hoping to find him in the Room later, but the others were expecting him to have an answer as soon as possible, and for some reason, he was reluctant to tell anyone that he'd been sneaking up to the Room at night or that he'd once found Malfoy there. Besides, he couldn't be sure Malfoy would be in the Room again. It might have been a one-time thing. When Hermione nudged him at dinner, he decided he would just swallow his pride and do it.

He made his way to the Slytherin table, doing his best to ignore the eyes that followed him. He sat down next to Malfoy, who paused in his meal only long enough to glare in Harry's direction.

"I need—can I talk to you for a moment?" Harry asked.

Malfoy made a noise that was impossible to interpret.

"Just for a minute," Harry pleaded.

"No-one's stopping you," Malfoy snipped.

"I mean in private."

"I'm busy. Go away."

"Fine, then. Meet me in the alcove off the entryway after dinner."

"Whatever, Potter."

Harry stood up. He wasn't sure if Malfoy would actually show up, but he was determined to be there waiting if he did. He returned to his own seat and said to Hermione, "I'll talk to him again after we finish eating." She nodded.

After dinner, Harry waited in the alcove. He was just about to give up when Malfoy arrived.

"Make this quick. I have other things to do."

"Fine. We need your help."

Malfoy scoffed. "As if I would help you. Whatever it is, find someone else."

"I think you'll be interested in this. Listen to me. Please?"

Sighing, Malfoy said, "You have two minutes. If you're not finished or I don't care at the end of that, you will shut up and go away."

"Agreed." He paused and waited until Malfoy nodded at him to continue. He lowered his voice. "It's about the Room of Requirement."

"The what?"

"The Room of—wait, what did you used to call it? The Room of Hidden Things. We've been trying to fix it—" Something occurred to Harry, and he stopped for a moment. "It was you," he said. "You're the one who was cleaning it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. I kept going in there and finding it cleaner than it ought to have been." He held up his hand before Malfoy could say anything else. "It doesn't matter. What's important is that we're trying to repair it, but we need your help."

Malfoy made an impatient noise. "And why should I help you and your lot? I certainly don't care if it's ever fixed."

"First off, I know that's not true. If you didn't care, you wouldn't have cleaned it. Second, what's in it for you?" He leaned in. "You owe me. For saving your arse from that fiendfyre, for one thing, and for keeping you out of Azkaban for another. If you have any shred of decency—and I know you do—then you'll help us."

There was a long silence during which they stood facing each other, neither of them backing down. Finally Malfoy sighed.

"What is it you want from me?"

"I'm not entirely sure, except that according to the book Hermione found—shut it, Malfoy—we need someone from each House, and we need to brew a potion to temporarily bind our magic in order to re-create the spells woven into the Room."

Malfoy's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious."

"I am. But if you don't believe me, I'm sure Hermione will show you the book."

"So, what you're telling me is that you want me to steal the ingredients for a probably illegal potion, bind my magic to three people who in all likelihood don't trust me, and cast unknown spells inside the castle just for the sake of fixing a dead room?" Malfoy scoffed. "I don't think so, Potter. Try someone stupider than I am."

Harry sighed. "There is no one else. Why do you think I came to you?"

He regretted the words the moment they left his lips. A hurt expression passed briefly across Malfoy's face before he contorted it into a sneer. "I'm your last resort, am I? Too bad you're out of options, then." He turned to go.

Harry caught his arm. "Wait. Please." When Malfoy stopped and looked back over his shoulder, Harry continued, "You are the only person we know who has both the power and the ability to help us. You aren't our last choice, you are literally our only hope for making this work. Asking you was my idea—I didn't want to give up before we'd even started."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "This was your idea?"

"Yes."

Slowly, a smirk blossomed on Malfoy's face. "I'll do it. But you owe me, Potter."

"Didn't I just say that _you_ —"

"Shut it. I just saved all your arses on this one. We're at least even now." Malfoy jerked his arm free. "Where and when do we meet?"

"Tonigh at ten, seventh floor corridor. Hermione will fill us in on the details."

"Fine. Now leave me alone before people start to wonder why we're talking to each other." With that, Malfoy stalked off toward the stairs.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He retreated to the dormitory to tell the others that everything was in place and they could begin.


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

Late in the evening, as the other students filtered up the stairs to bed, Harry sat with his friends beside the fire. No one spared them a glance, but they decided to exercise caution anyway. One by one, they slipped away and out through the portrait hole. Harry was the last one out; by the time he left, no one remained in the common room.

They caught up to each other in the seventh floor corridor. Luna and Hannah were already there, waiting. Harry crossed and uncrossed his fingers, willing Malfoy to actually show up. He couldn't decide whether it would be worse or better either way.

After five minutes, Ron huffed and said, "I knew we couldn't count on him. Hermione, I hope you have a back-up plan."

"A back-up plan for what?" said a voice from the shadows.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief; Malfoy had kept to his word. "Nothing," Harry responded quickly. "Let's just go in."

Luna and Hannah hadn't yet seen the Room and so were unpleasantly surprised. The rest, despite having long since recovered from the shock, still all felt discomfited by the devastation, even after several days' worth of tidying. All, that was, except Malfoy, who bore his typical haughty expression and appeared to be unconcerned with anything except getting it over with.

As they entered, Luna said softly, "Hello, Draco."

Harry turned to look at her, partly in surprise at hearing Malfoy's given name. He'd been just 'Malfoy' for so long Harry had almost forgotten he _had_ a first name. Luna wasn't exactly smiling, but she appeared serene. Malfoy merely nodded curtly at her. Harry supposed he shouldn't have been shocked that Luna seemed unconcerned with his presence; she had spoken on his behalf at his trial, after all, and perhaps she knew better than any of them what lay beneath his cool, arrogant exterior. Strangely enough, Harry wished he possessed that knowledge. Perhaps if he'd had it, their mutual animosity might never have come to fruition. He pushed those thoughts aside and joined the others in a circle on the cleanest patch of floor they could find.

Hermione filled everyone in on the details, including the potion. The book only had so much information—Hermione had pieced together the steps for creating magical caches with the legend surrounding the Room and the explanation from the hidden chapter of _Hogwarts, a History_. Harry might have questioned her theories if he hadn't known her so long. She set four parchments in the middle of the floor which turned out to be a list for each of them of the spells they would need to use.

For a few minutes, no one said anything. They peered at the parchments, and there were several meaningful glances exchanged. Hannah eyed Malfoy warily. He pointedly ignored her in favor of scanning the parchment with the potion on it. Hermione took note of his interest and broke the silence.

"The list of ingredients for the potion is long," she said, "but none of it is illegal." She didn't add that the potion _itself_ might not be strictly legal. "The difficulty will be in obtaining everything we need. Not all of it is in the student stores. Also, the potion takes three weeks to brew. We'll need to start it almost immediately if we want to finish this before the summer term ends."

"Isn't there anything we can do in the meanwhile?" Hannah asked. "Right now, I feel so useless." She looked around at the room and shuddered.

Hermione nodded. "We can finish the cleaning and we can repair some of the spell damage, just like we did for the rest of the castle. It's only the spells that make the room responsive to the castle's inhabitants that require joint magic."

"Granger," Malfoy put in, "just how exactly do you propose we acquire the potion ingredients?"

"Can't _you_ just get them?" Ron asked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It might look just a bit suspicious if I started rummaging around for ingredients we're not using."

"Actually, I agree," Hermione said. "I have an idea."

It turned out that she had divvied up the list amongst them so that each person would be responsible for retrieving only two ingredients. She had done a bit of research and had discovered several common potions that used one or more of the ingredients they could only get from Slughorn. Harry and Ron were tasked with asking for the supplies and the brewing instructions under the pretence of practsing for Auror training. These days, Slughorn was reluctant to challenge Harry—or anyone associated with him—on anything at all.

Everything else they needed was in the student stores, so the others would have no difficulty lifting what they needed during ordinary Potions lessons. Provided Malfoy began brewing within the next three days, they had plenty of time. Afterwards, they would have a week to make their attempts at finishing the work on the room.

While they made plans, Harry kept sneaking glances at Malfoy. He didn't seem to be protesting at all, nor was he even bothering to make snide remarks. Harry was surprised and, oddly, bothered by that. He wanted to ask, to goad him into some kind of reaction, but he was afraid that it might set Malfoy off and he would refuse to return and help them. There was no room for error where Malfoy was concerned.

At the end of their meeting, Hermione pulled several galleons out of her pocket and distributed them. They were the same ones they had been using since fifth year, and Harry was torn between smiling and cringing at the memory. He'd had no idea Hermione still had them. He accepted his and pocketed it.

Malfoy turned his over and over in his hand. "I would say thank you for paying us for our services, Granger, but this isn't a regular galleon. So why don't you explain it?"

She replied, "The others already know what these are. I'll use little words so you can understand, too." When Malfoy just sneered, she continued, "It's charmed. We can arrange meetings this way. For now, when you have your ingredients, just tap the coin. Once we all have them, we can set another time to meet."

They ended their first session and filtered out of the room. Hannah, Luna, and Malfoy left immediately; the others reversed their steps and returned to the dormitory one by one. Harry was the last one out. Just as he was about to leave, Malfoy stepped back into the room. Harry swallowed a groan; what could Malfoy possibly want?

"Forget something?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "No. Just wanted to ask you if you really think it's worth it to go to all this trouble just for a room no-one really uses."

Harry stood facing Malfoy, arms crossed, refusing to look away. "Scared, Malfoy?" He wondered if Malfoy would remember.

He did. "You wish," he whispered, leaning close.

"Then just do what we've asked you to. Why does it matter so much to you why the rest of us are doing this?"

For a long moment, Malfoy didn't answer. Harry watched him swallow, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Eventually he said, "It doesn't." He turned around and walked out, leaving Harry staring at the closed door.

* * *

Two nights later, they reconvened in the Room. Harry had been right about Slughorn; he hadn't even questioned why they wanted odd amounts of several unusual potion ingredients and a set of complicated instructions. Ron had tried to explain, but Slughorn had stopped him and said they could have anything they wanted. Not for the first time, Harry pitied him.

Everyone else had been easily able to retrieve the rest of what they needed. Hermione had copied out the instructions carefully, and she handed them to Malfoy. "The potion has a lot in common with several others," she said. "It's similar to a love potion, but it doesn't include some of the ingredients that give it such potency. It's also just a bit like polyjuice, just without actually wearing someone else's body."

Malfoy didn't say anything; he merely nodded and began setting out the supplies. The others set ingredients on the table then stepped back, waiting to see what Malfoy would do next. A tiny thrill ran through Harry; he hoped Malfoy would exhibit some of his old self rather than the withdrawn figure he'd been at their previous meeting.

He didn't disappoint. After rolling up his sleeves, Malfoy began barking orders at the rest like a master to his sous-chefs. Within five minutes, the ingredients were chopped, mashed, mixed, and measured. Somehow, he managed to only yell at them a few times. He snapped when Hannah sliced some kind of root into pieces twice as large as he wanted, and he made a rude comment to Neville about handing him the right thing at the wrong time.

Harry was secretly pleased that Malfoy targeted him when he was sloppy with his weights. At the time, Harry had been standing next to Malfoy, close enough that he could mutter, "Yes, your highness," without the others overhearing. He was startled when Malfoy momentarily dropped the business-like attitude long enough to glace sideways and give just the tiniest of smirks.

At last the potion was done. In three weeks, they would have what they needed. Malfoy worked out a schedule to stir the potion every day on a rotating basis. He would check on it every evening, as there were some ingredients to be added at a later time, but someone else would need to stir it in the morning. By taking turns, they were unlikely to be detected. Once again, Harry was surprised at the faith Malfoy was willing to put in the rest of the group. Something in his body language suggested to Harry that he might be enjoying himself just a little bit—more than he cared to admit, maybe even to himself.

They dispersed in the same manner they had the previous time they'd met. Once again, Harry was the last one out, and once again, Malfoy returned to the room after allowing the others to believe he'd left. Harry was beginning to think there was something else going on.

"Malfoy, do you want something? This is the second time you've come back after everyone else is gone."

"Maybe."

Harry huffed. "Well, what is it, then?"

"I was just making sure you didn't do anything to ruin the potion."

"And why would I do that? Besides, I'm not touching the potion. I'm waiting to leave."

"Whatever. You're not well known for brewing, so I thought I should keep an eye on things." Malfoy shrugged.

Harry didn't respond. He set the parchments back on the shelf with the leftover ingredients and stalked to the door. Before he could step out, Malfoy called after him.

"See you tomorrow night, Potter."

With one last glance behind him, Harry walked out and pulled the door shut behind him, wondering how Malfoy knew he would be in there.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

As it turned out, they missed each other the following night, but two nights later, their paths collided again. Harry was already in the room, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on his folded hands. He had his eyes closed, but he heard the soft footfalls when someone else entered the room.

Harry opened his eyes and watched as Malfoy checked the potion, giving it three counterclockwise stirs. When he was through, he crossed the room and sat down. He had two bottles of butterbeer in his hand, and he gave one to Harry.

"What's in it?" Harry asked warily. He wasn't averse to having Malfoy sit there in the ruined Room with him, but he wasn't about to just drink something that was handed to him.

Malfoy glared at him. "Just butterbeer."

"All right. But…why?"

"I thought you might want one."

"That's…generous of you. And unexpected."

Malfoy shrugged. "I didn't have any firewhiskey."

"I didn't know you drank."

"I don't. But it might have been more appropriate, given our history."

Harry snorted. He wasn't sure what this was that they were doing. They weren't friends, but they were no longer really enemies, either. He supposed that he should think of sharing a butterbeer as being a truce of sorts, albeit an uncomfortable one. Now that they were working on the Room, trying to restore it, he decided they were growing used to one another's presence.

This pattern continued for several days. Harry would arrive, settle in, and wait. After a while, Malfoy would show up, check the potion, and sit next to Harry, sometimes offering him a butterbeer. They mostly spoke only briefly, about things that weren't important: How the repairs were going in the Astronomy tower; what spells were best for preventing staircases from shifting whilst one replaced the bricks; how long it might take before the potion was ready and they could attempt the restoration spells. There were always things left unsaid between them—things that friends might speak about, but not former enemies with a tentative agreement not to hex one another into oblivion. They did not, for example, mention the names of their dead.

Still, Harry was curious. He knew that his nightly excursions were largely to escape having to deal with his best friends' relationship or the fact that he wasn't genuinely still seeing Ginny. It was too difficult to keep up that pretence for longer than the span of meals. He knew they were worried and that they thought he was suffering the lingering effects of having died, but the truth was far more terrifying to confront. He let off steam by pouring the tension into this whatever-it-was with Malfoy. Those were his own reasons; he had no idea what Malfoy could possibly be getting out of it. By all accounts, he was his usual smug, pretentious self the rest of the time.

Working up his courage, Harry asked, "Why do you really come in here?"

"I already told you why."

"You know what I mean. Why aren't you sleeping?"

Malfoy glared at him. "You try living with a monster for a year and see how well you sleep afterwards."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. I know about that."

"What would you know? You were too busy running away that whole time."

"Is that what you think?" Harry turned so that he was fully facing Malfoy. "You think we just ran away, went into hiding, and showed up at the end to play heroes?"

"It's what everyone was saying."

"Well, they're full of shit. We spent months looking for ways to—" He stopped. He wasn't sure how much he should say. Malfoy had always been more keen on the Dark Arts than Harry preferred.

"Ways to what?"

"Ways to kill Voldemort. It wasn't quite as easy as it looked."

Malfoy grunted softly. "I imagine not."

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then Malfoy continued, "It's not just that. I'm just tired—tired of the way people look at me and tired of thinking that if I just do everything I'm expected to, everyone will forget what my family has done." He huffed. "Honestly. I have no idea why I'm telling you all this."

Harry shrugged. "Because I asked. And because you know I'm not going to say something soothing about how right you are. Or how wrong, for that matter."

Malfoy snorted and tipped his bottle of butterbeer toward Harry. "Too right. Anyway, tonight I came in here to get away from Astoria. You know, that girl who follows me around like a lost Crup."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Why on Earth would you want to get away from her? Even I can see that she looks to be your type."

"As if you would know anything at all about my type."

"All right, maybe I don't. But why don't you like her? She's pretty enough. And she actually seems remarkably nice, for a Slytherin."

"Watch it, Potter." He frowned. "She _is_ nice. But I the reason I don't like her is because I'm supposed to marry her. Well, or her sister, but I don't fancy Daphne any better."

"Like an arranged marriage?" Harry wrinkled his nose.

"No, Potter. We don't live in the Dark Ages. I meant that my parents see her as a good match. I don't happen to agree."

"Why not?"

"God, you're pushy. Fine. I don't want to marry her because I'm not in love with her."

Harry smirked. "You're a lot more sentimental than I thought."

"I am not!" Malfoy huffed. "It's complicated."

"I can't see how, unless there's someone else you'd rather—oh, hang on. Is it Pansy Parkinson?"

"That cow?"

"How generous of you. I never thought she was all that great either, but honestly."

"Well, she's also not my type."

"What is your type, Malfoy? You could probably have your pick of any pureblood witch, despite your family's…er…issues. Clearly Astoria doesn't care. What's wrong with them?" He glanced over at Malfoy, who was resting his head against the wall with his eyes shut. Harry scrutinised him. He couldn't resist baiting him just a little. "What, they're not pretty enough? Rich enough? They don't have big enough tits? What?"

Malfoy sat up, his eyes boring straight into Harry's. "Now who's being generous? That's a rather crude way to talk about women. You think you know so much about me?" he snapped. "You don't. You don't know a damn thing about me, and you never bothered to try." His face was contorted with barely suppressed rage.

"I—" Harry's stomach churned in fear. Malfoy was _scary_ when he was angry, and Harry didn't want to risk another confrontation that might undo all their hard work on the room. "No. You're right," he said helplessly. "I don't know you. I just can't figure you out. You come here night after night, and you don't complain that I'm here, and you bring us drinks, but all we do is talk past each other. I want to know why."

Malfoy didn't say anything; he just continued to glare at Harry, though his posture relaxed slightly.

Harry sighed. "When we started the summer, I saw you with Astoria. She was—she was flirting with you, and you looked like you were enjoying it. You even smirked at me, like you thought I should be so lucky as to have someone like her making eyes at me. And now you're saying you don't want her. So I want to know what's missing."

At first, Malfoy looked like he wasn't going to answer. He leaned back against the wall and stared straight ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. Harry picked at the hem of his jeans while he waited. After a long moment, Malfoy said, "It's not because she's not pure enough or rich enough or hell, even fit enough." He coughed. "Her _tits_ , as you so eloquently put it, are fine. If you like that sort of thing."

"If you like that sort of thing?" Harry looked at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes. Which I…don't."

"I'm sure she has lots of other—"

"Are you really that thick? God. I shouldn't have to spell it out for you."

Harry thought for a moment before understanding dawned on him. He was sure he looked comical with his eyes as wide as he could open them. "Oh. _Oh_. I…I didn't know." He sat as still as he could, but his heart was racing and blood was pounding in his ears. Malfoy was gay? How had Harry missed that one? He thought there was some sort of sixth sense he should have developed when he admitted it to himself. Granted this was likely the result of Dudley's constant taunting and his tendency to stereotype regarding people's sexuality, but still, shouldn't he have known?

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, but he knew he had to get out of there. He had no intention of allowing Malfoy any chance of finding out his own well-kept secret; it would be all over not only the school but the _Daily Prophet_ as well. He didn't care that it was irrational and that he knew Malfoy wouldn't actually report it to anyone; he was busy remembering vividly what Malfoy had done during the Triwizard Tournament. He felt suddenly stifled in the Room. He pulled back and stood up, leaving his half-drunk bottle of butterbeer on the floor.

"I have to go," he mumbled and fled to the door. He barely registered Malfoy saying, "Potter! Wait!" before he had shut the door behind him and run down the length of the corridor. He only remembered halfway back to the dormitory that he had left the invisibility cloak lying on the floor next to Malfoy.


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

For the next few days, Harry avoided any contact with Malfoy. He didn't even look in his direction at meals. At night, he remained in the dormitory rather than venturing back to the Room. That was misery; he ended up tossing and turning for a solid hour each night, wishing he could just get up and take a walk. He knew where that would lead, however, so he opted for bed instead. Unfortunately, he remembered he had left his invisibility cloak in the Room, and he wanted it back—even if it meant demanding Malfoy return it. He stalled on that as long as he could.

When he couldn't bear it any longer, Harry decided to make another pilgrimage to the Room. He couldn't leave before everyone else was asleep, as he was without his cloak. For whatever reason, they were in a chatty mood all evening, much to Harry's annoyance. He had to wait for everyone to be asleep, increasing the chances Malfoy would be in the Room already and he couldn't just quietly retrieve his cloak. It was late when the others finally dispersed to bed, and Harry hoped that this time, Malfoy would be long gone. Gratefully, Harry slipped out once no one was around to pay attention and headed for the Room to find his cloak—provided Malfoy hadn't kept it.

Malfoy wasn't there, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he looked for his cloak. Fortunately, he easily located it, neatly folded on one of the shelves of a book case Hermione had conjured for them to keep their supplies. He intentionally pushed away the thought that Malfoy had probably done that for him. Relieved, he sat down and leaned against the wall, intending to rest for a moment before heading back to Gryffindor tower. He hadn't been there five minutes when the door opened. Malfoy hovered in the entry for a moment, eyeing Harry suspiciously before he stepped fully inside and pulled the door to. Harry swallowed nervously. They hadn't spoken since the night he'd run out. No-one else had noticed except Hermione, who accused him of not trying hard enough to be civil. He hadn't corrected her.

Harry thought it might be best if he returned to bed and avoided any conversations with Malfoy until the potion was done. If they could just get through it, they could be finished with each other for good. He stretched out his legs and prepared to get up.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I'll go." He stood, but Malfoy stopped him.

"Don't be ridiculous. Sit down, Potter. This will only take a few minutes and then you can go back to brooding or whatever."

Harry sat. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. He motioned to the cauldron. "I'm taking care of the potion, of course."

"Yeah, I can see that. I just assumed you'd have been gone by now." He regretted his choice of words immediately.

"Obviously that's what you were hoping for, anyway." Malfoy checked the temperature and stirred it three times counterclockwise. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry then laid aside the glass stirring rod. He crossed the room to where Harry sat and leaned against the wall beside the bookcase.

"Did you want something?" Harry asked. Malfoy merely shrugged, so Harry added, "You can sit, you know. I mean, if you're staying."

"Decided I won't contaminate you, have you?"

Harry snorted. "I dunno. Why don't you sit down and we'll find out?" Malfoy didn't move, so Harry said, "I never thought you would contaminate me."

Malfoy finally sat, his back against the wall next to Harry.

"I'm sorry about the other night," Harry tried.

"You should be."

"I am, all right? You surprised me, that's all."

Malfoy grunted. "Clearly."

After a few minutes, Harry asked, "When did you know?"

"Sorry?" Malfoy looked at Harry in confusion.

"That you're gay. When did you know you were gay?"

"Potter, why do you want to know? This cannot possibly be important to you."

"How would you know what is or isn't important to me? I just…I'm curious."

Malfoy sighed. "I think it started with a crush. But I was certain by fifth year when I caught Blaise wanking in the shower. He has a rather...impressive penis."

Harry nearly choked on his own saliva. "You say that word like it's nothing."

Malfoy huffed. "I think saying 'cock' or 'dick' is just so...crude, I suppose. I'd prefer to use proper words for things."

"You sound like my cousin."

"Why's that?"

"He's a Muggle, yeah? He used to tell me all this shite about something called 'sex and relationships' where the teachers made them use all the right words. They had to say 'penis' and 'vagina' and they couldn't say fuck, they had to call it intercourse. It always sounded so pretentious."

Malfoy snorted, but his mouth curved upward slightly.

Harry continued, "It was actually one of the more pleasant conversations we've had. Of course, he followed it by calling me a queer and slamming his door in my face." Harry was oddly touched by his recollection, aside from the name-calling. He decided that when the summer term was over, he would try and find Dudley after all.

Malfoy was quiet for nearly a minute before he said, "Are you? Or at least, are you afraid you are?"

"Am I what?"

"Queer."

Harry's heart was pounding. This was exactly what he'd feared; Malfoy knew, and he was going to use it somehow. "I—"

"I mean," Malfoy interrupted, "it would make sense. You took off so fast the other night. I thought at first that you hated me for it, until I considered why you might have been so upset."

Harry sighed. "It's complicated," he evaded.

"I'm sure. What possible complications could you have?" Malfoy sneered. "You're everyone's hero. No-one would give a damn if you wanted to—"

Harry was suddenly angry. "Stop that! Remember when you said I didn't know you and hadn't even tried to find out? You know nothing about me, either. You never wanted to. From the first minute we met, you acted like you were better than everyone else. You spent years telling everyone that I was an attention whore, no matter how many times I tried to tell you otherwise. And now you think you have the right to fuck around in my personal life. Well, guess what? You don't." He sat back, breathing hard and staring straight ahead. This was the closest they had come to dissecting their past, and it was a ragged wound.

"I'm…sorry."

The words were strained, and Harry wasn't sure whether they meant that Malfoy was actually sorry for being rude or just sorry that Harry had taken it that way. It didn't really matter.

"Thank you," Harry replied tersely.

"Are you going to tell me what has you so wound up?"

"I don't know." Harry looked down at his hands.

He nudged Harry with his foot. "Maybe it's sexual frustration."

"What the hell are you on about?" Harry pulled a face at Malfoy, who laughed.

"Just trying to lighten the mood in here." He shrugged. "Or not. Anyway, it can't be that. I thought you had a girlfriend."

"Pardon?"

"The Weaselette. You're still seeing her, right?"

"Don't call her that. Her name's Ginny. And it's complicated," Harry repeated. "We haven't…you know."

"' _You know_ '?" Malfoy sniggered. "Oh, come on. Aren't you supposed to marry her and populate the world with ginger babies?"

Harry glared at him. "Probably. But that's not going to happen. We're not together anymore. Or, well, we are, as far as everyone else besides the two of us is concerned."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "But you're not really seeing her? Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I realised that it might be a bad idea to marry someone just because she looks like a cross between my mother and my best friend?"

Draco snorted. "I did not need to know that." His lips were twitching.

Suddenly, it all seemed rather amusing to Harry, too. He laughed, possibly for the first time since he'd talked to Ginny, and Draco joined in. When they calmed down, they looked at each other.

"Sorry," Harry said.

"No, it's all right." Draco looked thoughtful. "Why is it such a bad idea? She reminds you of people you care about."

"Because—" Harry sat there, incapable of continuing. Ginny was the only person he had told, and he wasn't sure he trusted Malfoy yet. On the other hand, Malfoy had trusted him. "Because the answer to your question is yes." He cleared his throat. "I'm gay."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Does anyone else know?"

"Well…no," Harry admitted. "I mean, Ginny does, obviously, but she's the only one. She didn't really want to get back together anyway, so when we broke things off, I told her. That's why we're still acting like we're a couple. She's just as happy to pretend everything's fine for the sake of her family."

"When did you realise?" Malfoy angled his body, his eyes trained on Harry. It made Harry feel exposed.

"I only admitted it to myself a few weeks ago. When I was in Australia helping Hermione bring her parents home."

Malfoy gaped at him. "You didn't know? Or even suspect?"

Harry scowled at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. "Oh, pardon me, I didn't know there were rules about these things. If you must know, I was a little too busy saving the world to dwell on a crisis of my sexual identity."

Malfoy snickered. "You're witty when you want to be, Potter."

"Er, thanks, I think. Anyway, a lot of things make more sense now."

"Such as?"

"Such as why I never liked doing much with girls." _Or why I get hard thinking about men_. He chose not to repeat that out loud. Instead, he said, "Not that I have much of the opposite experience, though."

"So you've not done anything about it, then?"

"What, like finding a bloke to snog? No. It's not like I've had loads of time to work all this out." He glanced sideways at Malfoy, suddenly curious. "What about you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I haven't done much. Bit of kissing, couple hand jobs in the prefects' bathroom last year. Summer before sixth year, I met a boy when we were on holiday in France who put his mouth on me, but he wasn't very good." Draco winced, and Harry wondered what made one 'not very good' at such things. "Oh, and one of my father's—associates, shall we say—offered to teach me how to suck him off. I turned him down."

"That's disgusting." Harry shuddered.

Malfoy only shrugged again. "Only because he was vile and ugly. I was of age."

The thought of being pawed by one of the Death Eaters turned Harry's stomach, but he dropped it. Malfoy didn't seem especially bothered. Instead, Harry said, "I'm not even sure how to meet blokes to get any experience. Honestly, you're the first one I know of since…" He trailed off, not wanting to mention the two men he'd seen in Australia. "At this point, I've only ever kissed two people, and they were both girls." He felt his face grow hot. "I've no idea what it's like."

"That's easy to remedy. Come here."

"What?" Harry frowned.

"Look, I'll help you. Think of it as an experiment." Malfoy turned to fully face Harry. "Kiss me."

"Why the hell would I want to do _that_?"

"Because you said you didn't know what it felt like and if it was different to kissing girls. Best way to find out is to try it. Just trust me."

"All—all right." Harry shifted so that he was directly facing Malfoy.

They leaned towards each other, and Harry's stomach clenched. This shouldn't be difficult; he had kissed Ginny loads of times. He already knew what to do. But this was _Malfoy_ , and that made it different regardless of the fact that he was a man. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Before Harry could prepare himself, he felt Malfoy's lips against his own. They were softer than he had expected, and they fit perfectly. Harry felt as though someone had cast an electrifying spell over him, because a slow tingle was spreading downward from where their mouths were joined. Without thinking, Harry lifted his right hand and laid it on Malfoy's cheek, drawing them deeper into the embrace. It was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. His kisses with Ginny had all been full of innocent, sunlit warmth. This was nothing of the sort; it felt dark and forbidden and intense, full of raw sensuality. After what seemed like a small eternity, Malfoy broke their kiss.

They sat back, looking at each other. When they had caught their breath, Malfoy said, "Now you know."

"Yeah. Er, thanks. Now I know."

"Different to kissing girls?"

"Very," Harry agreed.

Malfoy stood up and smirked at Harry. "Good luck. It's not as hard as you think to find people." With that, he exited the Room, leaving Harry gawping after him.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

Outside of the Room, and any meetings established for cleaning or planning purposes, Malfoy kept his distance from the others, including Harry. Something in Harry ached to extend their friendship beyond that boundary, though he knew that was unrealistic. He supposed it had something to do with finally being able to be honest, at least to an extent. It was growing more and more difficult to sustain secrecy about a vital part of himself, and there was relief in being open with at least one person who understood. The feeling didn't appear to be mutual, though, and Malfoy continued to associate mostly with his own few House-mates, never even acknowledging Harry most of the time. None of Harry's friends seemed to be interested in fostering a friendship with Malfoy, either. It was clear they still didn't entirely trust him and were only willing to be polite for the sake of their work.

None of that stopped Harry from seeing Malfoy after the others were asleep, however. For the remainder of the time the potion sat in the Room steeping, Harry kept up his pattern of sneaking away. They met in the Room every night, and at first, it was the same. Malfoy stirred the potion then sat down with Harry to share drinks. They didn't talk about their experiment, nor did they talk about anything less pleasant in their past. Instead, they resumed the light conversation they'd kept up before, still dancing around the subjects best left unspoken. Then one night it happened—they crossed the line into unfamiliar territory.

Malfoy had just finished stirring and laid the rod next to the cauldron. He looked around at the room, which was now nearly clean from the damage done by the fiendfyre and the Room's own tears. They planned to paint it at the weekend, though no one seemed to be able to agree on a colour. Harry remarked on that to Malfoy, suggesting that maybe they should just paint it white or beige since the Room would take on whatever properties it needed in the moment.

As Malfoy absently wiped around the cauldron to clean up a few random splatters, he said, "Yes, well, we wouldn't even be in this mess if Vince hadn't—" He stopped himself, and neither of them spoke. It was the closest they'd come to dissecting their past thus far. Harry barely breathed, waiting for Malfoy to say something else.

When he didn't continue, Harry finished for him. "If he hadn't set the whole place in an uncontrollable blaze." Someone had to say it.

Slowly, Malfoy turned around. He was shaking slightly, but he held his head up and met Harry's eyes. "Yes. If he hadn't started the fiendfyre."

"Did you know he was going to?" It was the question Harry had been dying to ask since it happened. How much of that had been planned?

Malfoy shook his head. "No. Honestly, I just wanted my wand back, and I knew there was something in here you were looking for." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he held it in.

Harry understood. "You want to know why we came for Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem."

"Is that what it was? Why was it so important to you?"

"I'm not sure I should tell you." Only three other living people knew the truth.

"Does it have anything to do with the elder wand?" Malfoy's expression was open, curious.

"Not really, no. Well, sort of. It's more about what I told you before, about looking for ways to kill Voldemort." Harry swallowed. What if he told Malfoy everything? He took a deep breath. "It's a long story."

"Do you not want to tell me?"

"No, I—" Harry paused. He found that he did, in fact, _want_ to tell Malfoy. He just didn't know if he _should_. "I'm not sure that I'm allowed."

Malfoy scoffed. "Not allowed, Potter? You're the hero. You can do anything you bloody well like, I'd say."

Harry chuckled at that. If only Malfoy knew. "Not anything. And there are people out there who might use what I tell you to hurt someone else. If I tell you, it doesn't leave this room."

"Done." Malfoy crossed the room and extended his hand, and Harry looked at it. He stared so long that Malfoy began to seem impatient, so Harry finally grasped his hand.

It was as though they had crossed yet another invisible barrier. Harry felt a jolt, as though some magic had passed between them, not unlike the electrical storm he'd felt the night they'd kissed. Somehow, this felt even more intimate for its implications. Their eyes locked for a long moment before Harry broke the trance and shook his head to clear it.

He gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "This is going to take some time to explain. Maybe we should sit."

They made themselves comfortable in their usual spot—strange, Harry realised, that they even had a usual spot—and Harry began. It felt surprisingly good to talk to Malfoy. Harry told him less than Ron or Hermione knew, but more than he'd shared with Ginny. He managed to leave out the part where he'd been one of the horcruxes, instead making vague references to a 'connection'. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't question it.

When he was through, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for Malfoy's reaction.

"So…that's it. You destroyed his soul?"

"Yeah." Harry rolled his head to the side to look at Malfoy.

"Your connection to… _him_. That's how you knew some of what I—we—were doing?"

"More or less."

Malfoy wore a curious expression, as though he were trying to piece things together. For a moment, Harry was afraid he had guessed the truth. Instead, Malfoy asked, "Is that how you could speak Parseltongue?" Before Harry could respond, he added, "I mean, _he_ did it all the time. If you were somehow in his mind, or he was in yours, I suppose it would make sense that you could do it, too."

Harry shook his head. "No." He hesitated. He hadn't even told Ron or Hermione the truth, as he'd only discovered it himself after returning from Australia. "It's in my family, too. I can still do it."

"Can you?" Something in Malfoy's tone suggested he was more than casually interested.

" _Yes, I can_ ," Harry hissed. Beside him, Malfoy shivered, and Harry didn't say anything else. He wondered what Malfoy was thinking, but he didn't ask.

They were silent for a little while before Malfoy asked, "And Professor Snape was really on your side?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. Not exactly. He was on his own side, I guess."

"That's not really surprising. When he—when he died," Malfoy swallowed, "why did he want to see—"

"He was in love with my mother."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "Now, there's a side of him I never expected."

Harry chuckled. "Me neither." He paused. "I have her eyes. I've had to hear it all my life, to the point where I can already fill in the rest of the sentence every time I meet someone who knew her. That was the first time I was glad of it."

"It must have been awful, those months," Malfoy mused. "You know, I used to think about you. I hated you for being able to run away while the rest of us—no, while _I_ was stuck here or at home, forced to obey either the Carrows or… _him_." He sighed. "I fantasised that you might come back and make it stop. When it just kept getting worse and you didn't show up, I hated you all the more."

"Is that why you didn't tell them who we were?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes. I was angry when you left—I wanted you to take me with you." He glanced sideways. "But…you never would have, would you?"

The urge to reach out and hold Malfoy, to soothe the pain of the previous year, struck Harry, and he had to push it back before he did something he might regret. "I'm sorry we couldn't do anything to help you."

"More than finding every place that bastard hid his soul? No. I think you did enough."

While they were talking, they had somehow managed to move closer so that they were pressed together, shoulder to hip. They leaned comfortably against each other, and Harry was surprised at how well they fit. If anyone had told him even a month before that he would be trading secrets with his former rival in the ruined remains of the Room of Requirement, he would have called that person quite mad. Now, it didn't seem so strange. Malfoy bowed his head and pressed a light kiss to the side of Harry's head. It was so faint that Harry almost missed it, convinced it must have been a trick of his imagination. Malfoy's left arm lay on Harry's leg, and Harry slid his hand so his fingers rested on Malfoy's forearm. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but he didn't want to stop.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low. "Tell me what it was like." He knew he didn't really need to ask; he'd seen more than he wanted through Voldemort's own eyes. But Malfoy didn't know the extent of the visions, and Harry suspected he needed to unburden himself as much as Harry had.

"Tomorrow," Malfoy promised. He pressed against Harry affectionately before rising to his feet. On his way out, he smirked at Harry. "I'll see you?"

"Count on it," Harry replied.


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV**

It was all Harry could do to get through the next day. He was certain he must have been acting strangely; he certainly felt weird, at any rate. There was no good reason he should have been looking forward to seeing Malfoy again in the Room. Yet there he was, anticipating his nightly escape. They had at last begun to untangle their complicated history, and for that he was grateful. He hadn't anticipated finding an ally in an old enemy, yet something told him that it was in allowing Malfoy's humanity, he gained understanding that he had never truly been the enemy at all.

At last everyone else had gone to bed, and Harry slipped out of the dormitory. Malfoy was already in the Room, just finishing his nightly assessment of the potion.

"It's nearly ready," he said when Harry entered. "Less than a week, I think. We start adding the other ingredients tomorrow."

"You're talking like I'm going to help you with that," Harry said.

"You know you'll be in here, and I'm not letting you just sit on your arse whilst I do everything. I do have standards." He cleaned up the work space. "Besides, you could learn a thing or two about brewing. You're not completely hopeless when it comes to potions-making."

"Fair enough," Harry replied, hiding a smile at the grudging compliment. He sat down in the space by the book shelf.

A moment later, Malfoy joined him. He produced two butterbeers—Harry wondered where he was acquiring them so frequently—and sat down on Harry's right. Harry wondered how to begin; after all, it wasn't his story to tell this time.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "You wanted to know what it was like." When Harry nodded, Malfoy continued. "Maybe I should start with this."

He pushed up his left sleeve. There was a strange mark there, but it wasn't the Dark Mark. Harry looked at Malfoy questioningly.

"Oh, I had it," he said. "After it was over, I…" He looked away for a moment, then, with determination, he returned his gaze to Harry's. "I carved it out of my arm."

It was all Harry could do not to recoil in horror. In an effort to keep still, he stared down at the scar. "I thought it couldn't be removed."

"Trust me, it can. I wasn't allowed to do magic at the time, so I used a kitchen knife and made one of the house-elves heal it afterward. Hurt like hell, too. But I wasn't going to have that _thing_ on me one second longer than I had to." He took a deep breath. "And now I'm going to tell you why."

For the next hour, Harry took his turn listening as Malfoy poured out all he'd been through in the previous year. He admitted to enjoying the power he'd possessed under the Carrows; it made up for what he suffered away from school. Even that had been a mockery on their part, however, because of his parents' perceived crimes against Voldemort. By the time Crabbe set the fiendfyre, he was more under his friends' power than they were under his. As much as Harry had seen through Voldemort's eyes, there were dreadful things even he hadn't seen, and his heart ached at what he heard.

When Malfoy was finished, he was shaking. "And now you know why I don't sleep well."

Without thinking, Harry reached out. He drew Malfoy in and kept his arms around him. It felt strange. Touch always felt odd to Harry anyway, but this was different. Despite the fact that Malfoy was considerably taller than Harry, he folded himself small and tucked himself into Harry's side. They stayed that way so long that Harry was afraid Malfoy had actually fallen asleep. At last, though, he disentangled himself from Harry and made to move.

It happened quickly, before either of them fully had their wits. Their faces were close, and with no premeditation, Harry closed the gap and kissed Malfoy. It wasn't long or intense, and it didn't ignite the tingling buzz of their previous try. For a moment, Malfoy stiffened, and Harry wondered if he'd done the wrong thing. After a brief hesitation, Malfoy kissed him back.

When they sat back, Harry said, "We wasted a lot of time hating each other, didn't we? But I don't see how we could have been friends."

Malfoy shook his head. "We never could have been. I believed everything I was told until I saw it for myself. And you—you took me for your enemy, perhaps rightly so." He snorted. "It's a miracle that we're talking to each other now. Believe it or not, that was never in my plan."

Harry sniggered. "Oh, I believe it." He sighed. "You know we're going to have to deal with that eventually, right? I can't pretend that you didn't insult my friends and bully me and cause harm to people I care about. But I also can't pretend you were completely evil or that I never did anything back to you just because I didn't like you."

"I know."

Harry stretched and stood up, offering a hand to Malfoy. "We should both get some sleep. Do you think you can?"

"Yeah." Malfoy accepted Harry's hand and pulled himself up. "Good night, Potter."

"It's Harry."

"What?"

"That's my name. You and I never use our given names. Maybe that's where we should start."

Malfoy—Draco—chuckled. "All right, then. Good night…Harry."

"Good night, Draco." Harry stepped out into the corridor and shut the door. All the way back to Gryffindor tower, he turned it over in his mind: He was now on a first-name basis with his former rival, and instead of feeling awkward or uncomfortable, it felt like coming home. He didn't spare a thought for why that didn't bother him in the least.

* * *

Nighttime conversation was far easier from then on. Instead of hanging back while Draco stirred and tested the potion, Harry helped him. By that point, the remaining ingredients went in one by one. Side by side, they chopped and crushed and measured, Draco keeping up a steady stream of instructions and information. It pleased Harry to watch him work, despite the fact that he still snipped whenever he thought Harry was shirking. Harry decided he was learning more from this than he had in five years with Snape.

Together, they also finished the last of the cleaning and they even painted the room. Thinking ahead and still trying to keep the reason for his nighttime wanderings secret, Harry offered to take care of it if the others could agree on a colour. Neville pinched a bucket of paint from where he was working in the greenhouses and left it in the room at one of the group's meetings, saying, "It doesn't matter what colour the damn walls are. Just use this." That made Draco's eyes go wide at Neville's assertiveness, and Harry chuckled at his surprise.

While they worked, they stayed close to each other, casually brushing against one another or making contact in other ways. Occasionally, Draco would press his hand into Harry's shoulder or his arm. Once, Draco had gotten a bit of paint in his hair, and Harry reached out to take care of it, wondering if the fine, blond strands were as soft as they looked. He flushed at his musings, though he did discover that the texture of Draco's hair wasn't mythically soft; it was actually rather ordinary and merely felt like hair.

Eventually both the Room and the potion were finished. Draco bottled the potion into eight vials—just in case—and cleaned out the cauldron. He set the remaining supplies inside it to be returned to Professor Slughorn. While he took care of that, Harry tidied up the cleaning and paint supplies, storing them on the book shelf. He absently wondered whether the shelf would become part of the Room once it was restored, the first of the new treasures to be collected in its natural state of disorganized storage.

They stepped back and admired their work. The Room didn't look like much more than an overly large closet, but something felt different, as though they had reached some kind of milestone. The Room itself seemed happy, although that might have been nothing more than the feelings Harry and Draco were pouring into it.

Awed at how far they'd come from the charred remains only seven weeks prior, Harry breathed, "Wow."

"Yeah."

Harry turned to Draco and grinned. "We did it." He gripped Draco by the shoulders. "We did it!"

"Not so fast," Draco answered. "We still have to be sure the potion works and do all those complicated spells Granger listed for us." His face broke out in a smile, though, and he said. "But yes. We did it."

Before he could stop himself, Harry pulled Draco into a fierce hug. He didn't resist the sudden pressure of Draco's mouth on his. Harry felt the tingling blossoming from his chest and spreading out to his limbs, and he put his hand on the back of Draco's neck to draw him closer. They kissed for several minutes before they both pulled back.

"Er," Harry said.

"Right." Draco flushed, and Harry fought back a smile. "We should get some sleep. Tomorrow's the big day—we'll want to test that potion." Draco gave Harry's arm an affectionate squeeze before he crossed the Room to the door. Not for the first time, he left Harry staring after him, muddled by the strange emotions bubbling to the surface. What felt like an hour later but was probably more like thirty seconds, Harry collected himself and set off in obedience to Draco's admonition to get more sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV**

As it turned out, getting sleep had proved easier said than done. The recurring dreams that had plagued Harry since May returned, both the nightmare and the significantly less unpleasant variety. The dreams slid together, resulting in restless sleep and frequent waking as he alternated between terror and pleasure, culminating in the blond dream-man and Voldemort blurring into one figure and melting into someone who bore remarkable resemblance to Draco Malfoy.

He woke up sweaty and sticky and with his head swimming from exhaustion. Frustrated, he hastily cleaned himself, thinking that particular affliction should have passed ages ago and that he was far too old for his body to behave like a young teenager's. Fixating on the mess prevented him from admitting that his humiliation owed more to the subject of the dream than its result. He hoped Ron and Neville hadn't noticed anything during the night; he didn't want to have them eyeing him suspiciously or asking questions about whether he was all right. Both of them were as familiar as Hermione was with his vivid nightmares, and explaining that it had been something else entirely would have been awkward for everyone.

The product of a poor night's sleep was that Harry wasn't functioning well through the usual repair work and lessons. He was glad when the day finally ended and he could retreat to the dormitory for a short rest before meeting the others in the Room at ten o'clock.

When the hour struck, he and the others crept one by one to the seventh floor. It was time to find out if all their efforts had paid off. Hermione had suggested making sure the potion worked before they tried to cast complicated spells with it. Fortunately, they had enough of the potion to make a few attempts, and Hermione had thought to make a list of basic spells they could try to practice combining their magic.

Draco passed around four of the vials. "One swallow should be enough for a test," he said. "It will last about an hour."

Hannah eyed the dusky, vaguely green liquid. "I'll bet it tastes vile." She narrowed her eyes at Draco. "How do we know you didn't put something in this?"

"He wouldn't risk it, Hannah," Neville said, arching an eyebrow at Draco.

"Besides, I watched him pour it," Harry said, not thinking. The others all stared at him, and he quickly added, "I was here last night painting. I came in just as Dra—Malfoy was cleaning up and pouring out the potion."

"That explains why you were so tired and irritable all day," Rom commented.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief when no one questioned him further. "So, what do we do?" he asked. "Do we drink it and then we're—what, connected to each other?"

Hermione shook her head. "Malfoy can correct me if I miss anything, but you make the bond yourselves with every person who has taken it by thinking about something that gives you positive feelings towards the other person."

Harry wasn't sure whether that would work with Hannah and Draco. He looked between them, but Hannah nodded. He wondered what she could be remembering that kept her from completely hating him. There had to be something, or she would have spoken up. He thought briefly about what Draco had said of the Carrows and about what Luna had said at his trial. He, too, had risked his life; that had to mean something, if even Hannah knew it.

The four of them stood facing each other, vials in hand. Draco raised his and the others did the same. Harry could see that Hannah and Luna were reluctant to drink before Draco did. Knowing that it would hurt Draco if he sensed that no-one trusted him, Harry lifted the vial to his lips. As soon as he drank, the others did as well.

The effects weren't immediately noticeable. After a minute or two, Harry felt a sense of calm steal over him, and he had a heightened affection for the others. He looked at Luna, and he remembered the mural on the wall of her bedroom—how she had considered him a friend and how it was she who had told him about the thestrals. He felt a rush of love and loyalty toward her. When she returned his gaze and smiled, he knew that she, too, had brought forth memories, and their bond was complete.

It took a little longer with Hannah, as Harry didn't know her nearly as well. He thought about how she had been a faithful member of the D.A., risking her own life on more than one occasion. As nervous as she seemed, she was far smarter than she gave herself credit for. Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning about the blossoming romance she had with Neville; he couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more. Like Luna, she turned towards Harry and smiled, and they sealed their bond.

A quick glance around and it seemed as though the others had all connected. Draco was the only one left. Harry took a deep breath. For seven years, his only memories of Draco had been painful. He didn't want to relive the insults and the hateful remarks nor the attack he orchestrated on Hogwarts or that terrible night on the astronomy tower. Harry exhaled and concentrated on what had happened since then. Unbidden, the first thing that came to mind was the electrifying kiss they'd shared more than a week before, quickly followed by their impromptu celebratory snog the previous night. Suddenly, the Room felt too hot and Harry's trousers felt too tight. He fervently hoped no one else had noticed.

He was sure his face was turning red, and panic crept up his spine. He forced himself to derail his train of thought; surely there was some other memory? Instead, his mind filled with their increasing emotional intimacy, which was no less arousing. His anxiety worsened, and he heard a slight popping noise behind him. Bottling his magic never got him anywhere but trouble—he was likely to explode something if he wasn't careful. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Draco's gaze.

Draco's expression was, as usual, unreadable. Harry sensed a thin strand of something between them; he hoped it was the bond. He couldn't tell whether it had worked or not, as he'd been too busy willing his body not to betray him. Sensing that no one else appeared to be aware of his inner turmoil, he took a few calming breaths and relaxed his stance. He felt the magic settle in his chest, a vague background feeling mostly of contentment. He blinked and smiled, and he saw Draco relax just a little. It was done.

They broke their circle to await Hermione's instructions. She gave them each a parchment with different spells to try. Their goal was to combine their magic with the caster in order to strengthen the spell. Eventually, they needed to work up to complex magic that would affix to whatever magic the Room still possessed, thus functioning more or less like a healing spell on a human.

First, they tried a basic levitation charm with Hannah as the caster. The others all concentrated on channeling their magic into Hannah as she lifted a shoe. They alternated between barely moving it and smashing it into the ceiling. Eventually, they were able to focus and lift the shoe quickly and accurately onto a shelf. They tried with several more small items until they were proficient at the spell.

It was easier the second time, combining their magic with Luna's to transfigure a cup; they had it almost immediately and were able to progress to larger items. Whether it was a function of Luna's abilities or their own increased confidence and skill was unclear.

At last it fell to Harry to use defensive magic. They would start by disarming the other four people in the room. From the moment they started, Harry sensed something was wrong. They were out of sync. He could feel their magic attempting to aid him, but it felt off-kilter, like walking with a limp. They were entirely incapable of disarming the others, the spell crashing wildly and missing every time. Even when they managed to direct it, the others deflected easily.

Hermione frowned. "This can't be right," she said. "It should have worked. Everyone else succeeded." She turned to Draco. "Do you think maybe Harry needed a stronger dose?"

"Why?" Harry asked. "I'm not any bigger or stronger than anyone else."

"I don't know. Maybe because of—" she stopped herself, and he knew she was thinking that dying might have broken him in some way. "Maybe you have some kind of immunity to it or something."

Draco eyed Harry. "It could be," he said. "I'll work on it to see if you may be right."

Hermione nodded. "I'll see if I can find any other solutions. We still may be able to fix the Room even with incomplete bonding. After all, the Founders were able to achieve that naturally. Perhaps you can as well, though you don't have the investment in the castle or each other that they did." She looked thoughtful, and a fresh wave of fear stirred in Harry that she might have picked up on the place the potion went awry after all. She didn't say anything further about it, much to Harry's relief. Instead, she began packing things up. "Let's just get some rest and plan to come back to it on Saturday, when we'll have more time."

The others agreed, and they quietly dispersed to their beds. Harry didn't wait around to see if Draco would turn back up after the others left; he wanted to be as far away as possible to avoid any further humiliation.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd give you a few bonus chapters, including a nice steamy one. (The whole thing is done, I'm just trying to get it uploaded.) Anyway, happy reading. I hope you enjoy it!

**XVI**

On Friday night, Harry sat in the middle of the clean, bare Room of Requirement next to a partly empty bottle of firewhiskey. It had not been an ideal birthday, and it niggled at him that they had not achieved success with the potion the previous night. He had come into the room to forget for a while, but all he'd succeeded in doing was making his head slightly fuzzy from the alcohol. He wasn't enjoying it enough to bother drinking any more of it.

The day had not started out too badly. His friends had, of course, remembered his birthday, though it was humbler than in previous years. His greatest gift—though he probably wouldn't ever have said it out loud—was having lived through the entire year. That alone more than compensated for the lack of presents. Still, instead of breakfast in the Great Hall, Hermione had caved and asked the house-elves to bring them food in the common room so they could have privacy. Harry had enjoyed spending a few quiet moments alone with Ron and Hermione.

Afterwards, it had been a long, hard day of grueling physical work that rivalled anything the Dursleys had ever asked Harry to do. When they had finished both that and their lessons, Harry's whole body ached. Instead of a hot shower and a long sleep, he'd gotten an earful from Hermione. Apparently, she had decided he'd finished celebrating his birthday and was in want of a good lecture about his reaction to Draco's potion. He had no intention of correcting any of her assumptions that they needed to temporarily let go of their old enmity and distrust.

So, at the end of the day, Harry had escaped to the Room of Requirement to avoid any further contact with people who may or may not have wanted to ask him pointed questions about why the potion hadn't worked for him. He knew the answer to that, of course, but he thought it might be better to try to drown it in firewhiskey. That might have been successful if he actually liked the stuff.

The door opened, and Draco stepped in. Harry sighed. As the cause of his stress, Draco was the last person he wanted to see. "What do you want?" he asked.

Draco's eyes travelled to the firewhiskey, and he arched an eyebrow. "Drinking alone, Potter?"

"Back to 'Potter', am I? Figures."

Instead of answering, Draco crossed the room and sat down. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig then pulled a face. "Disgusting. How can you drink this?"

Harry shrugged. "It's my birthday."

"Happy birthday," Draco said. "Doesn't seem like much of a way to celebrate, though."

Harry knew he was trying. He'd been trying; that was the problem. If Harry let him in, everything would come crashing down. He would have to admit that he'd been half gone from the night they'd first kissed. "It's been a bad day."

"Care to talk about it?"

"With you? Not bloody likely." He knew he was being rude, and he couldn't even blame it on the firewhiskey. He'd hardly had any. Fear of discovery drove him to keep Draco at arm's length. He stood up and stalked to the book shelf.

"Potter, you've been in a foul mood since yesterday when we couldn't get the bonding potion to work properly, and you've been avoiding me. I'm sorry it didn't work. I already told all of you that I would try and find a solution, and Granger is researching other options. I get it that you want to fix things, but repairing this room isn't going to change anyone's life. Why is this so important to you?"

"It's not that." Harry tugged at his hair. "Fine. I'll tell you. Hermione says we're the reason the bonding potion isn't working to draw our magic together. Both of us bonded fine with everyone else."

That got Draco's attention. "She thinks we don't trust each other." Draco stood up and faced Harry, arms crossed.

Harry nodded. "But…" He chewed his lip. "She's wrong. It's only me. It's my fault it's not working."

"So, you really don't trust me, then." Draco almost sounded hurt, and that surprised Harry.

"No." Harry shook his head vigorously and then decided that was a bad idea; it made him suddenly feel the effects of the firewhiskey. "I trust you. It's just…" He swallowed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Draco. "I got a hard-on, all right? When we took the potion and said the spell. It was embarrassing."

"What?" Draco sounded utterly bewildered.

Feeling exposed and irritable, Harry snapped, "Sorry, did you need me to use proper terms? Maybe draw you a diagram? Or is it enough to say that—"

"I know what you meant!" Draco shot back. "I just don't understand what caused it."

" _You_ , you idiot! Trying to bond with you. Thinking about something good between us." Harry's neck felt hot. "I remembered kissing you that first time and again when we finished painting the room. I guess I just…reacted. I tried to stop it, and then I couldn't connect with you."

Draco's eyes met Harry's. Harry saw the fierce glint and wondered if he had overstepped the line. He assumed this was his problem; what was keeping them from completing their work was his own stubborn refusal to admit what he wanted. Now that it was out in the open, maybe he could let go and allow the potion to work. That is, if Draco wasn't angry with him.

When Draco didn't respond, Harry said, "I wanted to kiss you. Or possibly more. So I fought the effects of the potion because I didn't want anyone to find out, especially you." He looked at the floor then back up to Draco's face. "It didn't work. I still do. Want to kiss you again, I mean."

"Why would you want to do that?" Draco pressed his lips into a thin line. The intensity of his gaze didn't waver.

"Because," Harry answered, "I can hardly think of anything else anymore."

Draco scoffed. "That's just because I was the first man—"

"No." Harry stepped closer. "It's not because of that. It's because now I know you, and I like you. And I thought it seemed as if maybe you liked me, too. Why else would you have—"

"How do you know I wasn't using you?"

Harry didn't know how to answer that. He could have said it was because he'd seen a different side of Draco now, or because he had helped them repair the room even without a promise for reward. He could have said it was the way they had trusted each other with whispers in the dark or the fact that Draco hadn't revealed what he knew about Harry. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he replied, "I just know."

The silence that stretched between them grew so that it filled the gaps. There were so many things left unspoken there. Harry held Draco's gaze, refusing to break away. He leaned in so that they were breathing each other's air, but he didn't touch Draco until he saw his eyes flutter shut and felt Draco's nose brush lightly against his own. He closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips to Draco's.

They deepened their kiss, and Harry felt a wet heat against his lips. Realising Draco was attempting to slide in his tongue, Harry didn't hesitate to allow him entry. He had never enjoyed this with Ginny, but he had assumed it was their inexperience. Now, with Draco, it felt intoxicating. He was losing control rapidly. He slipped his free hand around Draco's waist and gasped a little at the feel of bare skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly. He explored the exposed spot with his fingers, marvelling at the softness.

Draco chose that moment to push Harry gently until his back hit the wall. Draco worked his hand up underneath Harry's shirt and ran it over Harry's chest; the sensation made Harry groan. Something in his brain clicked into place. Harry knew he needed to pull back before he couldn't anymore. He wanted nothing more than to continue to taste and touch each other, but he needed to know that it was what they both wanted and not just another experiment.

"I—" he started.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco growled. "Don't analyse it, just enjoy it." Before Harry had the chance to respond, Draco's mouth was back on his and they had resumed their explorations.

They melted into each other. Harry kept one hand on Draco's waist and brought the other up to touch his neck, holding them fast together. He vaguely registered that Draco had shifted to hold onto Harry's back. Without thinking, Harry pulled him closer so that they were aligned. A jolt of electricity ran through him the same way it had done the first time they kissed—the same way it did at the mere thought of that kiss. He could feel himself responding and knew that there was no way Draco could miss the hardness pressing into his thigh.

With a sharp intake of breath, Harry drew back a little, attempting to shift his hips away from Draco. He was certain that his face was flaming. He hadn't intended to do anything that would make Draco feel uncomfortable. Before he could apologise, Draco slid his hands down and pulled Harry back towards himself, holding firmly to Harry's hips. He pressed forward with his own, and Harry felt the answering arousal. He looked up and saw that there was a question in his eyes. Harry leaned in again to kiss him and at the same time lowered his hands to Draco's backside.

They rocked their bodies together with increasing urgency. After a time, they were no longer kissing, instead panting into each other's mouths and concentrating on grinding against each other. Draco was making soft grunting sounds that Harry decided were the most incredibly erotic thing he had ever heard. He gasped again and dropped his head onto Draco's shoulder.

"Is…is this…okay?" Draco asked, barely getting the words out.

"Yeah. Don't stop." Harry moaned. "Shit...I'm so close."

"Me too. Yeah…"

Harry didn't have the chance to respond. He gave a muffled cry as he erupted. He heard Draco choke out something that sounded like, "Oh, God" before he shuddered against Harry. They continued to move against each other slightly as they calmed down. Still gripping one another, they slid down the wall into a boneless tangle on the floor. They sat for a long while, regaining equilibrium. Harry only moved when he realised his pyjamas were uncomfortably damp. He cast a mild cleaning charm over both of them, which had the unfortunate side effect of startling Draco.

"God. Warn me next time, please. That was unpleasant."

"Sorry!" Harry bit his tongue in an effort to keep from laughing. He felt giddy. As often as he'd sneaked into secluded corners with Ginny, nothing they'd done together had even come close to the previous few minutes. The effect was not unlike his first glass of firewhiskey, leaving him warm and with his head buzzing pleasantly.

"I've wanted to do that for ages. You've no idea," Draco murmured.

"Me too," Harry agreed. He was pleased and surprised to discover he wasn't the only one.

"Do you think we might be past your little issue with the potion, then?" Draco asked, smirking.

"Without a doubt," Harry replied. Chuckling, he nudged Draco.

"Good. Then I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll try again to set the spells." Draco stood up.

Reluctantly, Harry also clambered to his feet. "Good night," he said.

Draco smiled—perhaps the first serious, genuine smile Harry had ever seen him wear—and leaned in for a kiss. "I trust your birthday has improved."

"Believe me, it has." Harry couldn't resist stealing one last kiss before he let Draco walk out into the silent corridor. He stayed behind just long enough to clean up the firewhiskey and make sure the room was in order before he, too, set out for the dormitory.


	17. Chapter 17

**XVII**

In the morning, the whole group convened in the Room. As far as most of them were aware, it was a meeting to decide what to do next, as the potion hadn't worked. Only Harry and Draco knew the truth. For Harry, the question was, how could he explain it without giving anything away?

After they had sat down, Hannah asked, "So, what do we do now? I mean, if this isn't going to work, then what are our options?"

Hermione eyed Harry for a moment before she said, "I think we should try one more time. As long as all of you are willing to trust each other this time, it should work. If it still doesn't, then we'll need to look for something else." She didn't suggest that they give up, even though that was the unspoken consensus.

Hannah frowned. "What do you mean, trust each other?" She turned towards Draco. "Does this have something to do with you?"

Harry gave Draco a lot of credit. He said nothing, though his mouth was set in a thin line. Harry knew he had to say something, or the others would go on believing that their failure had to do with Draco hating Harry. He sighed.

"It was my fault, actually," he said. "I didn't trust Dra—Malfoy." He looked at Draco and tried to tell him without words that he didn't meant it, but Draco's expression remained unchanged and he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Hermione, what makes you think today will be any different?" Hannah complained. "If even Harry doesn't trust him—"

"I do, though," Harry put in quickly. "I came in here last night to think about it, and Malfoy came by to see if there was anything in the book about the potion. We…talked, and I think we've worked it out for now. I can do this. Please, don't blame Malfoy. We've all been through too much to undo our hard work."

Draco finally spoke up. "Will that be good enough for all of you?"

Hannah nodded, and the others made noises of assent. Hermione opened her book to the correct page.

"Is it safe for us to stay?" Ron asked. "I don't want to get hit with random magic."

"You'll be fine," Hermione assured him. "The magic becomes part of the Room, so as long as you don't interfere, there's no problem."

She stood up and directed the others to move into position. Ginny, Ron, and Neville sat with their backs against the far wall, and Hermione stood to the side. Harry took his place facing Draco, Hannah, and Luna.

For the second time, Draco produced the potion vials and handed them around, suggesting they try a larger dose this time to last longer. They drank, and Harry began to feel the calming effects. He repeated the process he'd gone through on the previous try and felt the magic working. He closed his eyes and smiled a little at the warmth and love for Hannah and Luna welling up in his chest.

When he got to Draco, he didn't resist this time. He let the memories drift through his mind—the way they'd traded secrets, the experimental kiss, the affectionate touches, grinding desperately against each other. He was surprised that when he didn't fight it, he also didn't feel aroused by it. Instead, a sense of contentment and joy wrapped around him until he thought his heart might burst. He met Draco's gaze and briefly wondered if they were reliving the same memories. The idea almost did cause an erotic tingle, but he quickly banished that thought. It was enough to know that they had threaded their magic together.

There was no doubt this time that the potion was working. As soon as the last connection took hold, Harry's heart rate and breathing sped up, and he felt as though his whole body might break apart from the feeling of fullness in his chest. It was intensely pleasurable, almost like with Draco the night before but without the sensuality and the aching need to come. After a few minutes, the nearly painful sensation of being magically intimate with three other people subsided, leaving faintly undulating pleasant waves of good will. All four of them smiled at one another, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione relax her shoulders. She, too, smiled.

"All right. You should see what happens this time when you try some simple magic together. The important thing is co-ordinating yourselves so that you're enhancing the caster's magic rather than trying to do it yourself."

They practised, and the most challenging part was trying not to cover each other's spells with their own. Their combined magic was exponentially more potent than it had been on their previous try, which meant that it was harder to control.

"Try focusing on the person instead of the spell," Hermione suggested.

Harry concentrated on Hannah, who was trying her levitation charm. Their efforts nearly exploded the shoe they were lifting; they needed much more refined spell-work. He closed his eyes briefly, picturing the warm, peaceful waves in his chest reaching out for her and guiding her. He breathed slowly and deeply, and he felt something between them connect.

Their efforts were successful. Hannah was able to guide the shoe directly and efficiently onto the shelf much more smoothly even than on their previous attempt with the bonding. Within a short time, they had mastered all of the basic spells and most of the advanced ones Hermione set for them, able to move rapidly as one to perform the tasks. When they were through, they turned to each other, grinning.

"It worked!" Hannah breathed excitedly. "It really worked!"

"Hermione," Harry asked, "when can we begin work on the Room?"

"Any time you like. You know how to do the spells—a lot of them are the same ones you've been using all over the castle. What you're going to need to do is remind the Room that it knows how to do them, too. You're infusing the very walls with the magic they need to work. In theory, eventually, the Room should have enough of your magic in it to finish repairing itself."

She instructed them to draw a pentagram on the floor. Once it was finished, Draco knelt down and painted over it with the same potion they had imbibed. The four of them stood in a ring around the pentagram, each extending one hand into the circle. Concentrating, they spoke singularly and in unison the words Hermione gave them. The pentagram glowed white and gold, and Harry felt the Room's magic take hold. He didn't fight it; he absorbed the light and warmth, the same sensation building in him as when they bound themselves to each other.

One by one, they worked the spells Hermione gave them, blending their magic with one another, sending it directly into the pentagram and filling the small space with shimmering gold and brilliant white light. Harry couldn't tell whether the Room itself was pulsing, breathing, living or if it was an illusion created by the potency of the spells. He lost track of time and space, feeling as though he were of one being with the Room and with the three others joined to him. Time stretched into an eternity, and he could no longer hear Hermione's voice. The only thing that mattered anymore was finding the thread of magic that would allow the Room to heal itself.

Suddenly, the light intensified until it nearly blinded them. Harry closed his eyes against the onslaught. It held steady for a moment or two, and then it burst, slowly receding until it had faded back into the dimness of the candles they'd been using to light the Room. It was over.

Harry opened his eyes and looked around at Draco, Hannah, and Luna. They all bore identical mystified expressions, and he assumed he must look about the same to them. As one, they dropped their wand hands. The Room looked exactly as it had when they started; it was unclear whether there had been any change at all.

"Did it work?" Luna whispered.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I think we need to give it some time. We've given the Room what it needs to repair itself, but I doubt we'll know for a few days whether or not we did the spells right."

No-one seemed to feel much like saying anything else. Quietly, they drifted away. Draco was the first to leave but not before aiming a meaningful glance at Harry. Neville offered to walk Hannah back to her dormitory, and he slipped his arm around her as they stepped out into the corridor. Ron held out his hand to Hermione, who accepted it and followed him out. Ginny and Luna bid Harry good-bye and set off for who knew where. Only Harry remained, standing in the middle of the Room, lost momentarily in awe of what they had just done.


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII**

Slowly, Harry began to clean up the mess they'd left. He cast a cleaning charm on the floor to remove the remnants of the pentagram and the potion stains. Carefully, he gathered the candles and set them back on the shelf, leaving a couple burning so there would still be light. He wondered how soon he could ask the Room for something else to see by. While he pondered that, he set the spell parchments on the shelf, promising himself to ask Hermione what she wanted done with them provided their repairs took hold. He turned to the table where they'd kept the potion to make sure there wasn't anything else left out.

When he was through, he stepped back into the middle of the Room to view their handiwork. He frowned. Something was different, but he wasn't entirely sure what. He looked around. Then he saw it: the bookshelf. It was no longer an ordinary shelf; it had greatly expanded to cover one whole wall. Not only that, there were odd items on it—a necklace, a dog-eared book, a pocket knife, a scarf. While he watched, more items appeared on the shelf. Harry's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He had never seen anything like it.

While he stood there staring, the door opened behind him. Without turning around to see who it was, Harry said, "Look at that."

"What?" Draco said just behind Harry's ear as he wrapped his arms around his waist, making him shiver a little. He drew Harry closer.

Harry smiled and leaned into the touch "Watch."

For a moment, they both remained still, watching as items filled the Room's long shelf. Harry suspected that the original treasures of the Room had perished in the fiendfyre, but if nothing else, at least the Room was back to collecting lost objects. Harry grinned and spun around, causing Draco to let go of him.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Draco laughed softly. "I have to hand it to you. I was just along for the ride—it made the term go by faster. I think you actually did it, though."

"Well, we did it," Harry amended. "You were here too, you know."

"I know."

Harry's heart swelled, overcome with love and pride for his friends. The peaceful feeling inside hadn't quite left him, and he stepped closer to Draco. Without saying another word, he reached out for him and drew him in for a kiss.

Waves of warmth and joy flooded him, and the same electrical charge from their first kiss coursed through him. After several intense minutes, he released Draco and backed up enough to look at him for a sign that he'd felt it too. Clearly he had, because he was flushed already. Harry grinned.

"You liked that," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes. You have that effect on me. Ask the Room for a place to sit, will you? I'm tired of the floor."

Before Harry could open his mouth, a comfortable couch appeared in the middle of the Room. He laughed and pulled Draco over to it. "Shall we get back to what we were doing? I was rather enjoying that."

"Mm," Draco replied, smirking. "I could tell."

Draco stretched out on the couch, and Harry straddled his hips. They kissed deeply until they were both breathless with arousal and beginning to rut against each other. Boldly, Harry slid his hand between them, applying gentle, sensual pressure against Draco's clothed erection. Draco groaned in response, tilting his head back and squirming slightly. Harry took the opportunity to kiss every inch of Draco's exposed neck.

Draco pushed up into Harry's hand, thrusting against him. Harry didn't give it another thought. Swiftly he undid Draco's trousers and slipped his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around Draco's cock. The drawn-out moan in response only spurred him on. He kissed Draco and fondled him, eliciting the most delightful sounds.

It wasn't quite enough. Harry tugged on Draco's trousers and pants until he had fully exposed Draco's cock. He sucked in his breath. He'd seen plenty of other boys before but not when they were fully erect and not so close up. He couldn't help taking a moment to appreciate it.

He felt a hand on him and glanced down briefly to see Draco fiddling with his flies. Harry helped him by undoing the buttons and pushing his clothing down and out of the way. Draco's hand on him was warmer than he expected, and he relaxed into the touch. They began stroking each other in earnest. It was incredible; Harry had never had anyone else touch like that. He thrust forwards slowly at first then with increasing speed, keeping pace with his own hand on Draco.

Harry could tell Draco was close by the sounds he was making, and he had an overwhelming desire to watch him come undone. He looked down between them, speeding up his hand slightly and applying just a bit more pressure. It was the right thing to do; Draco reached his free hand down and slid it into the crease of his thigh, slipping it around to cup his own sac. He pushed upward and came hard, coating Harry's hand and his own stomach. The sight caused Harry to groan in pleasurable anticipation.

After a moment's hesitation while he recovered, Draco resumed sliding his hand over Harry's erection. Trembling eagerly, now in desperate need for release, Harry moved to give Draco better access. He braced himself and hovered a little, resuming his thrusts into Draco's hand. His world began to narrow, heat prickling down his spine and between his legs He squeezed his eyes shut just as he emptied himself, his spilled seed mingling with Draco's.

It was all Harry could do not to collapse right there. Reluctantly, he shifted so he wouldn't crush Draco. This time, Draco cast the cleaning charm, and they pulled their clothes back up.

"We'd better get out of here before someone comes looking for us," Draco advised.

"Yeah. I'm actually surprised they didn't walk in on us." He was torn between thinking that might have made it easier to tell his friends and being relieved that he didn't have to explain both his coming out and his relationship with Draco simultaneously.

Draco stood up and offered Harry a hand. He pulled him in for a brief kiss. "This is the only time you will ever hear me say this," he said. "I'm glad you and your friends wanted to fix the Room." He grinned wickedly and kissed Harry again. "If nothing else, I've just had two of the best orgasms in my life between last night and today. God, it's so much better than doing it myself."

Harry shrugged and felt his cheeks flush. He rather liked bringing himself off, especially now that he was more comfortable in his sexuality, but he agreed that it was a whole different feeling with someone else. "Yeah," he replied.

Draco made for the exit, but he hesitated before turning the handle. He turned partway around to look at Harry. "I—" he began but stopped.

"What is it?"

"I want to see you again like this. I want to make love with you." His pale face turned pink, and Harry thought it was endearing.

"You mean, something more than what we've already done?" Harry was admittedly curious; he had some idea what they could try, but the thought made him nervous. He wasn't sure he was ready. Still, the thought of being so close with one another was appealing.

"Yeah." Draco cleared his throat. "Yes."

"Okay," Harry answered. "I'd like to, yeah."

Always thinking several steps ahead, Draco said, "Let's give it a few days. The others will be in and out, checking on the Room. When we're sure it worked, we'll test it out." He smirked and twitched his eyebrows.

Harry laughed. "Yes. We'll 'test it out', as you said."

With a final wink, Draco walked out. Harry sank back down onto the couch, taking a few minutes to enjoy what they had just done—and contemplate what they were planning to do.


	19. Chapter 19

**XIX**

Over the next few days, Harry and the others met nightly in the Room, keeping track of the steady changes. As Draco had predicted, this effectively kept the two of them from meeting alone. Difficult though the anticipation was, Harry enjoyed sharing the secret of their repairs with the others. Over time, they could see that the Room was gaining magical confidence. They all saw the shelf expanding, and the Room could now easily provide for them once they were inside. The only thing that remained was finding out if they could access it separately from its treasure-trove of lost and banished items. Until that point, they had continued to use their usual method of entry. Harry wondered if that meant the Room still wanted something from them.

As the end of the week, and the end of the summer term, approached, they planned a party. If they had done their jobs properly, they would be able to ask the Room to give them a place to celebrate with the collection of odd items safely stored away however the Room accomplished that. It was their last test; if they could ask for whatever they needed the Room to become, they would know their magic was complete.

On Thursday evening, they all slipped away from their dormitories. By that point, they had established that no one cared where they went. The rest were too busy studying or sleeping to bother. It had been an exhausting summer, and there were still exams to take when the Ministry saw fit to provide them. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own lives to pay attention to anyone else.

They met in the seventh floor corridor and stood opposite the blank wall. After a considerable silence, Hermione said, "We should decide what we want. That would help."

Hannah giggled. "Well, I want a place to have a party. Isn't that why we came up here?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Does the Room even do that? Whenever we used to come here, it was for…I dunno, more important stuff."

"What would you suggest, then?" Ginny asked. "It's not like we _need_ to have a party."

Huffing, Hannah said, "Well _I_ certainly do."

Suppressing a snigger, Harry said, "Maybe we just tell it we need someplace to rest and recharge. After the time we've all had, I think that's as close to a need as we're going to get."

The others agreed, so they all concentrated on having a place to relax. They paced the corridor, focused on their common goal. After the third pass, the door appeared in the wall. Harry reached out a hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

When everyone nodded, he opened the door. At once, he nearly burst out laughing. The Room had become a strange mix of nearly every sort of resort one could imagine, from a rustic cabin to a fancy Muggle hotel. There were several charmed windows, each showing a different scene: the ocean, a snow-covered mountain, an oddly-shaped pool surrounded by chairs. Around him, he could hear quite a bit of badly-covered giggles. Apparently, each of them had had something different in mind with the concept of 'relaxation'. With a resigned shrug, Harry stepped inside the Room.

Despite the odd assortment of decor and furnishings, it was surprisingly comfortable. The chairs were soft, and there were plenty of tables on which to set the assortment of food and drink Neville and Hannah had wheedled out of the house-elves before meeting them. They dumped their spread on the tables and began setting up.

Although he was amongst friends, Harry was disappointed Draco hadn't joined them. Hermione had sent him a message via the charmed galleons, but he had neither responded nor shown up to the Room at the appointed hour. Harry understood why, but he still wished he might have come. He decided it was probably for the best, as they couldn't really have been openly affectionate in front of the others anyway.

They passed the evening playing games and talking together, reliving some of their summer adventures in restoring Hogwarts. Hermione produced a bottle of some kind of wine and wouldn't tell them how she came by it. When pressed, all she said was that she didn't care for firewhiskey and had brought an alternative.

As the night wore on, they grew pleasantly fuzzy from weariness and the wine, and they sprawled themselves on the squashy chairs. Hermione curled into Ron's side, and he encircled her with his arms. Hannah leaned against Neville. Harry had to swallow his jealousy watching them. He might have sought at least that much comfort in Ginny, but he realised that at some point, they had simply stopped bothering. No one seemed to have noticed that they were no longer pretending to be affectionate; at least, no one had asked about it. At the moment, Ginny was seated on one of the chairs with Luna on the floor in front of her, and she was using charms to coax Luna's hair into an elaborate hairstyle. They giggled softly.

Harry sighed, and it must have been louder than he intended, because several sets of eyes focused their attention on him. "Er," he said helpfully.

"Yes?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing, really. I was just thinking that we only have one more day before we go home." He hadn't been thinking about that at all, but he needed something to say.

"Yeah, it's weird," Ron agreed. "I mean, we've spent almost half our lives here. Dunno what it's going to be like out there."

"Better than it would've been, thanks to you three," Neville said, lifting his half-full glass to them.

"So, what will all of you do after you leave?" Luna asked. "I'm coming back here next year, of course, and I expect Ginny is too." She glanced up behind her, and Ginny gave a tiny tip of her head in affirmation. "But what about everyone else?"

"I am too," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall offered the option, and I'm taking it." She leaned her head against Ron's shoulder. "I know it means being away from my friends, but I want to do this right. Besides, she says that I can have permission to go home at the weekends." She swallowed. "Or at least, I can leave Hogwarts. I don't really have a home to go to anymore, with Mum and Dad in Australia."

"You'll stay with us," Ron assured her. "Mum will be happy to have you there."

She smiled up at him. "I know."

"I have a job," Hannah said. "I'm going to work at the Leaky Cauldron." She shrugged. "I've never been much good with books and school, and charms are about the only thing I can do well. But I like people, and it'll be fun to work there. Tom's getting older, and he needs someone who can do a lot of the work."

"I suppose you all know what I'm going to be doing," Harry said, offering a wry smile.

"It'll be brilliant, mate!" Ron said, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. "And we don't even have to take the damn N.E.W.T.s to do it."

"I plan to anyway," Harry said. "I'll not have it following me that I got yet another thing without working for it."

Ron groaned. "Why'd you have to say that? Now I'm going to have to take them, too."

"No, you won't, not unless you're asked to. There are at least some perks to being the hero's sidekick rather than the hero." Harry nudged him affectionately, and Ron grinned back. It said a lot about how far they'd come that Ron didn't argue.

"What about you, Neville?" Luna asked.

"I was asked to join the Aurors too," he said. At the surprised looks he received, he laughed. "But you all know how well that would work out. I'm going to study advanced Herbology at the Wizards' Institute."

"I wonder what Malfoy will do," Luna mused.

Harry had to stop himself from making any sudden moves to indicate he had any interest whatsoever in that particular subject. He realised they'd never talked about it in all their time together. When they saw each other again, he would have to ask. Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he returned his attention to the conversation.

"Who cares?" Hannah was saying. "Just because he helped us fix the Room of Requirement doesn't make him our friend. I can't be bothered with his future plans."

The others appeared to be in agreement. Ron said, "It doesn't matter. He'll probably wind up doing pretty much what his father does anyway. I doubt he needs to work. It's not like the Ministry confiscated their entire fortune. Too bad, really."

"What _does_ his father do?" Hannah asked.

"Manages their family vaults and mucks about in whatever politics he can get away with," Ron replied.

Neville snorted. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I don't know," Luna put in. "He seems different."

"Not different enough," Hannah retorted. "Like I said, I don't honestly care what he gets up to so long as he's not stopping me from living my life."

_So that's that_ , Harry thought. He wasn't surprised; after all, none of the others had sat in the Room with him, hearing his secrets. They hadn't seen the scar where he'd carved the Dark Mark out of his arm. They didn't seem to care that he had given his time to a project that was essentially meaningless to him. Perhaps the reason they couldn't see it as a selfless act was that in some way, they believed he owed them. It confirmed for Harry that he still needed to keep his secret.

There was a bit of a pause, and then Hermione gave a tiny sigh. "It seems like yesterday that we were just arriving on the train as first years. And now look at us."

"We're grown-ups," Ron said. "Huh."

"Will we all still see each other?" Hannah asked. "I mean, this can't be it, right?" Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears, and Neville squeezed her hand as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I hope so," Luna replied. "You all are like my family."

"Course we will!" Ron said, trying to sound hearty. "'S not like we're leaving the country, is it? And besides, are we wizards or not? That's what Apparating is for!"

A chuckle went around the room, and then they were quiet. After a few more minutes, Harry rose to his feet. He wanted to get some sleep, and he needed to find a way to talk to Draco now that he knew the Room was functional again. As soon as he stood up, the others began to stretch and rise as well.

"We ought to get some sleep," Hermione said. "Tomorrow's our last day, and we'll want to be able to get our work done."

The others nodded in agreement, and they quietly dispersed to their dormitories. For once, Harry didn't hang back but fell in step with his friends, joining them on their penultimate trek to Gryffindor tower for the night and trying hard not to think about what that meant.


	20. Chapter 20

**XX**

Harry's heart was pounding when he slipped out through the portrait hole into the cool, dark corridor the following night. It was late enough that no one was still awake, so he left the cloak behind. There was no reason to fear being caught, but the illicit reason for his nighttime wandering made him paranoid anyway. He'd been sure that he was behaving in a manner that left clues for the others to uncover what he was planning to do. What he and Draco were planning to do.

He'd finally managed to charm a note to slip itself into Draco's pocket at breakfast. He'd had to get up and pretend to be doing something else in order not to attract attention from the others at his table, and even so he was sure that they had all found his behavior suspicious. No one had asked, despite the fact that he'd been fidgety all evening in the common room. At one point, Ginny had raised her eyebrows at him, and he'd been sure she was going to question why he was so anxious. She'd merely asked him to stop moving because it was jostling her and she kept losing her place in her book.

He tried to relax once he was well away from the tower and was certain no-one had followed, but it was impossible. Having abandoned his fear of discovery, he could fully concentrate on his nerves about seeing Draco. He wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do, but the anticipation was both arousing and frightening.

Harry reached the lonely corridor and stood facing the blank wall where he knew the door would appear. He tucked himself into the shadows to wait. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only two or three minutes, he saw a shadow approaching. He stepped out into the dim light so as not to give Draco a shock. Draco saw him and approached, looking much more casual than Harry felt. For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other.

"We should go in," Draco said at last. Harry could only nod.

All they asked for was a place to be alone with each other. On the third pass, the door appeared and they went in. The Room had provided them something like a common room, though without the House colours. There was a fireplace with several comfortable chairs arranged around it, a small table at the centre of them.

Draco chuckled. "It's not a bedroom."

Startled, Harry laughed nervously. "Were you expecting one?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe."

"I think if the Room had been providing places for students to, erm, fool around, word might have gotten out, don't you think?"

"No. I think whoever discovered that particular secret wouldn't have wanted to share it. After all, no one wants to be interrupted."

Harry snorted. "Probably." He wondered for a moment if the Room would provide them a bed if they asked for it. He decided it didn't matter; they could transfigure a chair.

While he was busy thinking these things, Draco had stepped closer. He put his hand gently on Harry's arm, startling him out of his thoughts. Draco leaned in and pressed a light kiss on Harry's lips.

"I want you," he said, low. "I've been thinking about this all day."

The vibrations made Harry's breath catch in his throat. He swallowed firmly, wanting to keep his wits. After a pause he said, "I want you, too." It came out shakier than he'd intended, and he was worried for a moment that Draco would laugh at him. Instead, Draco slid his hand around the back of Harry's neck and pulled him closer. He pressed his mouth against Harry's jaw, kissing upward toward his ear. When he reached his destination, he slid his tongue out to trace the shell. Harry shivered, pressing in even further.

Draco traced a path back to Harry's lips and they kissed deeply, sensually, tasting each other and exploring each other's mouths. Unable to resist, Harry slid his hand up under Draco's thin t-shirt. His fingers brushed against one of Draco's taut nipples, causing Draco to gasp.

Like they had just a few nights before, they moved against one another, pressing their bodies together. It was rapidly becoming too much, and Harry needed to pull back. He wanted to do this properly. He drew out his wand, and with a flick, he expanded one of the chairs into a bed. They stood next to it, and Harry tugged at the bottom of Draco's shirt, lifting it. Draco raised his arms and let Harry pull the shirt off.

Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected to find—perhaps a series of criss-crossing scars, barely visible against the pale skin. Instead, there was only an expanse of smooth chest, nearly hairless except for a soft trail tapering down below his navel into his waistband. The sight made Harry's mouth dry. He trailed his fingers down Draco's body slowly, tracing the non-existent pattern he'd imagined and coming to rest just above his pyjamas.

"Were you expecting a scar?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry whispered. Then, "I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head. "I was so angry with you for that. But I deserved it, and anyway, it didn't scar."

"I didn't know what that spell did." Harry kissed Draco again, then made a path downward with his lips and tongue. When he reached Draco's collarbone, he hesitated. He wasn't sure what he was doing.

Draco took the opportunity to run his hands under Harry's shirt, lifting it up. Grateful that he didn't have to figure out what to do next, Harry took off his glasses, setting them on the little table, and let Draco partially undress him. When he straightened up, he saw Draco gaping.

"What?"

"What are all these?" Draco asked. He ran his finger over all the various marks on Harry's own chest, hovering longest on the oval over his heart.

"Just scars," Harry told him. "It would take far to long to tell all their stories."

"Someday?" Draco questioned, and it sounded like a plea.

"Someday," Harry agreed.

Draco continued his explorations, running his fingers through the much coarser smattering of hair on Harry's chest, down his stomach to the place where it disappeared inside his pyjamas. Draco left his fingers there, hesitating, but instead of slipping them inside, he tugged at the fabric.

It was beyond enough for Harry. He wanted more, and he wanted it right that moment. They pulled clumsily at the rest of each other's clothes until everything lay in a heap on the floor, and they stumbled toward the bed. They lay next to each other, panting a little. Hungrily, Harry drew Draco in for a long kiss.

As they moved their lips against each other, they began to touch and explore and make each other shiver. Harry slid a hand downward uncertainly, and he felt Draco move against him doing the same. The instinct to reach out kicked in, and Harry slipped his hand between Draco's legs. Draco groaned and arched his back at the touch. After a moment, he seemed to regain himself and relaxed into the strokes. Harry felt Draco's warm hand wrap around him, and he gasped.

A seed of panic took root in his chest. He exhaled sharply, and Draco pulled back a little.

"Okay?" Draco asked.

"I've never—I don't know what I'm doing."

Draco's grey eyes were intense. "It's all right," he assured Harry. "I've never gotten this far with anyone before either. I just want to be close with you."

For a moment, Harry just stared back. The thought that he was the first person who had done _this_ —made Draco feel _this_ —was intoxicating. He couldn't hold back any longer. They resumed their desperate groping until Harry was overcome with the urge to rock their bodies together as they had done before, this time without the hindrance of clothing. He rolled them so that he was straddling Draco's hips and pressed down so that they fit together. Harry rolled his hips, and they both groaned pleasurably. Leaning in, he captured Draco's lips, tasting him and exploring every part of his mouth.

As his need intensified, Harry placed both hands on the pillow on either side of Draco's head, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. His whole body was ablaze as though fiendfyre had been ignited inside him. All his attention was on the building need for release. They thrust against each other until they could do nothing more than move together toward resolution. Harry spilt over the edge, tumbling into the oblivion of his climax and barely registering that he had taken Draco with him.

They lay in a tangle of limbs, breathing hard. Through his haze, Harry reflected that it had been nothing like he had expected. It wasn't the way he had assumed it would be with Ginny, nor was it like what his limited imagination had suggested it might be between two men. But it had been theirs, and theirs alone. They had all the time in the world to figure out the rest.

This time giving ample warning, Harry spelled them both clean and they settled comfortable against each other, Draco's back to Harry's front. Gently, Harry pulled the blankets up over both of them. Heavy sleepiness descended over him, and he slid into unconsciousness without any further thought.


	21. Chapter 21

**XXI**

When Harry woke in the morning, the first tinges of sunlight filtered in through the charmed windows the Room had created as part of the decor. He stretched out his hand, expecting to come in contact with another body. Instead, he only felt cold sheets. He sighed, disappointed but not surprised. He rose and dressed quickly, slipping out of the Room and padding silently back to Gryffindor Tower. He thought he might be able to sneak in and catch about an hour more of sleep before he had to get up to pack.

With that, the summer term was over. A few hours later, they were all headed back home on the Hogwarts Express, which had been arranged just for them. Harry hadn't taken the train out, so it was a strange experience for him. Aside from the unusual timing, the cars were well more than half empty. It wasn't merely that there were only older students; it was another reminder of just how many people they had lost in the last year. Harry chose a seat among his friends.

The long weeks had finally caught up with them, and everyone was quiet. Hannah leaned comfortably against Neville, experimenting with making oddly-shaped bubbles bloom out of the end of her wand. Luna had a magazine open in front of her which appeared to be considerably more mainstream than her usual fare, and she was actually reading it right way up. Naturally, Hermione was reading a book—or, rather, several books. She kept looking from one to another, placing them face-down on the table in front of her.

Ron, Ginny, and Neville were playing cards. They offered for Harry to join them, but he wanted to just sit. He thought he might try to sleep a bit and try to ignore the fact that he still had not had a chance to talk to Draco since the night before. Too many things had been left unsaid between them, and he didn't quite know where things lay. Leaning against the window, he closed his eyes and began to drift.

Just as he was sliding toward sleep, he heard Ron say, "Hermione! You've put your book in the way of our game. Can't you find someplace else to set it?"

"Sorry," she replied. Harry heard a rustle and assumed she had moved the offending book.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Ron wanted to know. "Didn't you get enough of that for the last eight weeks? Give it a rest, why don't you."

Hermione huffed. " _Some_ of us are planning to pass our N.E.W.T.s, you know. And I'll need to be ready to finish the last of my classes next month. Besides," she continued, "I'm not doing schoolwork."

"What are you reading about?" Hannah sounded genuinely curious.

"The potion we used when we repaired the room and its relationship to the Founders."

"Why?" Ginny asked. "I thought you read about it before we started."

"I did. But this is interesting. The potion has properties similar to both love and hate potions, but without their most potent ingredients. It's also a little like polyjuice and has some effects like a calming draught."

"We know all that," Ron said. "You told us before."

"Yes, well. Anyway, apparently, there can be some residual effects, just like with those other potions. Well, not polyjuice, but definitely the others."

"Like what?" Hannah asked nervously. "Are we all going to sprout boils or something?"

Harry cracked one eye. He was curious about the answer as well.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "It's more subtle. In a way, you've recreated the relationship between the Founders. So you're likely to continue to feel some kind of connection with each other."

"Oh, well, that's not so bad." Hannah smiled. "We were already friends, so this just seals it, right?"

"Except for Malfoy," Harry said. The rest all turned to look at him. "I mean, we may not have been so close before, but at least we go on, yeah? But Malfoy…" He let his voice trail off.

Hannah wrinkled her nose. "I'd forgotten about him. I'm not sure I want a permanent connection."

"He's not so bad," Luna remarked. "He's changed a lot."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Harry thought about what Hermione had said, and something occurred to him.

"What kind of connection, exactly?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It doesn't say. I assume something like what you felt when you combined your magic, only not as strong."

"I liked that," Hannah said. "It was nice. Like being comforted and loved."

Harry had liked it too, and that was the problem. He recalled exactly how he had reacted the first time they'd tried it and had to fight hard not to let his embarrassment show. "So, none of that was… _real_?"

Hermione frowned. "No, it was real in some sense. It just amplified feelings you already had, made them more potent."

Panic rose in Harry's chest. If what Hermione had said was true, then everything that happened after they'd taken the potion must have been no more than the effects of creating an artificial bond. Draco had been right after all. The feelings he'd developed were the effects of the potion increasing the minor amount of affection he felt for the first—and only, thus far—man he'd kissed. He'd sat in the room with the brewing potion and had helped finish preparing it, which meant that maybe breathing in the steam and working with the ingredients could have caused a similar reaction even before taking it. That would certainly explain their increased closeness over time. His heart thumped wildly, and he was glad he hadn't said anything to Ron or Hermione yet.

"I—I need to get up," he said, pushing a little at Ginny.

She slid out of her seat. "Are you okay? You look like you're going to be sick."

"No, I'm all right. I need to find Malfoy and tell him."

"Harry, it's really not that big of a deal," Hermione said. "It will fade over time. I'll owl him and let him know."

"You don't understand!" He gave a frustrated growl. "I cannot be magically bound to Draco Malfoy for the rest of my life! I have to—"

He never finished that sentence. As he got to his feet, he happened to look at the door to the compartment to see Draco standing there. His mouth was open slightly, and his eyes were wide. He quickly recovered, letting a sneer slide onto his face.

"I see you've decided to convene a meeting. Don't let me stop you from talking about our little project without me."

Harry wondered how long Draco had been standing at the door of the compartment and how much of the conversation he'd heard.

"Actually, it's probably a good idea if you know," Hermione said. "I was telling the others that there could be some side effects to that potion and you'll probably have a mild residual bond."

"Which means," Hannah said, "that we might have some feelings for each other that aren't completely natural."

"I see," Draco said. He looked at Harry, who stood there helplessly. The others knew nothing of what they had done, and now he wasn't sure how much of it had been genuine. Not only that, he had just implied that real or not, he wanted to be free from Draco.

"She means," Harry said, trying to convey his intent without giving anything away, "that it made us much closer than we might have been without it." He held his breath.

Draco's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were hard. "Good to know," he said. "It certainly explains why I don't feel much like hexing the lot of you."

The others all relaxed considerably, laughing, and Harry tried to go along with them. Something stopped him, especially when he saw that though Draco was smirking, there wasn't any emotion behind it. After a few more minutes, Draco turned around and walked back out of the compartment. Harry sat back down, shaking. Ginny glanced sideways at him, and he shook his head slightly at her. She reached under the table and squeezed his hand.

When he felt enough time had passed since their conversation about the potion and Draco's sudden appearance, Harry excused himself. The others absently acknowledged him and returned to what they were doing. He slipped out of the car and went in search of Draco.

When he finally found him, he was—mercifully—alone in the last car. Harry sat down next to him.

"You heard."

"Of course I heard. Enough to know you think that whatever happened, it wasn't us but the potion."

"Right."

Draco sat up and angled himself toward Harry. "You'll be happy to know that in three weeks, it won't matter. You'll be rid of me, and whatever 'bond' we have now won't interfere in your life anymore."

"I—what?" Harry panicked, thinking that Draco might resort to something drastic.

"I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?" Harry frowned. That hadn't been what he'd expected.

"Father has two more months of house arrest, followed by another three of community service. He's insufferable, so Mother and I are going on holiday until Christmas."

"Oh." Harry was relieved, both because it meant that Draco wasn't planning on hurting himself and because it meant he wouldn't be gone forever. He pushed hard on that last thought, not wanting it to lead anywhere. He couldn't entertain those feelings at all if he couldn't be sure they were real.

"And then I'm going away again for another two years."

The smashing Harry heard in his own head could only be the sound of his heart breaking. He willed himself not to think about it. "Two years? What will you be doing?"

"I'm going to study international potions trade, and that requires an intensive travel programme." Draco sighed. "I don't want to be a potions master. I want to work in the regulation of imports and exports, but I can't do that unless I take this course of study. No one here will have me at this point."

Harry said the only thing that came to mind. "When were you planning on telling me?" Draco didn't reply. He looked away, and Harry knew. "You weren't going to."

"No. I wasn't."

"Then…it meant nothing to you." _I meant nothing to you_. "I wish you'd told me."

Draco's mouth dropped open. "Why? Because _you_ care so much? You have your life, Potter. Go live it, free of the confines of a potion that makes you think you want the one person you shouldn't have—for your sake and for the sake of the wizarding world."

"But—"

"Go away, Potter. We're done here. Whatever you thought we had, it was all in both our heads." He turned away, making it clear their conversation was over.

Harry stood up. He wanted to reach out to Draco, to touch him find assurance that it hadn't been just a mirage. But in his heart, he knew it wouldn't make a difference. After all, Draco was right. He couldn't pursue a daydream when there was plenty of reality available to him. Without saying goodbye, he exited the car and made his way back to his friends.


	22. Chapter 22

**XXII**

For the remainder of the train ride home, Harry tried to distract himself with the company of his friends. They were all headed in different directions once they departed from King's Cross Station. Hermione, of course, was returning to Hogwarts in less than a month to finish her seventh year, along with Luna and Ginny, but she was staying at the Burrow until then. Neville would start his study in Herbology a week after they got back. Hannah's new job began straightaway when they returned. Harry and Ron were to start Auror training on the first of September.

As they neared the station, the whole group grew somber. It wasn't that they wouldn't see each other again; but it had the feel of finality. Their school days—at least for most of them—had ended with a whisper rather than a bang. The train pulled into the station, and they began to collect their belongings.

Out on the platform, they said their farewells. For the moment, everyone except Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were headed to different places. There were hugs all around, cursory 'see you soon' falling from their lips. It was a confusing muddle, and even though Harry tried to spot Draco in the rush of students tumbling from the train, he couldn't see him anywhere. Disappointed, he turned back to his friends.

"Wish me luck," Luna was saying. "My father said one of his friends is coming round tomorrow and bringing his grandson. I hope he's as interesting as all of you." She looked thoughtful. "If it gets dull, I'll just tell him about my adventures last year."

Ron mouthed, _Adventures?_ at Harry, who merely lifted his shoulders in response. Hermione frowned at both of them.

Hannah said, "You should all stop by the Leaky Cauldron sometime." She giggled. "Just give me at least a week to figure out what I'm doing." She linked hands with Neville, and he led her off someplace to say a more private good-bye.

"Harry, mate, you going to be all right?" Ron asked, clapping him on the back. "Going back to that house all by yourself?"

"Kreacher is there."

"That's almost worse." Ron winced.

"It's fine," Harry replied. "Now I'll have time to work on the house, if I can convince him to help me."

"You ought to fire-call Bill," Ron advised. "He can get rid of those spells in the entryway for you. They're downright creepy. And don't stay away too long. You know how Mum is."

"I know."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione flung her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. He staggered and caught himself, hugging her back. "It's going to be so strange, not seeing each other every day." She sniffled a little. "Promise you'll at least owl us, all right? I mean, you don't have to do it every day—"

"Hermione!" Harry couldn't help chuckling a little. "Of course I will," he assured her.

"Good." She turned to Ginny. "Are you coming? Or do you two want a moment?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ginny. Since his time spent with Draco, he hadn't put much effort into keeping up appearances with her. He wondered how the others hadn't noticed.

"Actually, yes, we'd like a minute or two," Ginny said, catching Harry off-guard.

He recovered quickly and said, "Right. We won't be long."

After a final embrace, Ron and Hermione disappeared out into the main station. Ginny pulled Harry aside to a bench. For a short time, they just sat there, watching as the train pulled away into the night. At last it was quiet, and they were more or less alone.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about earlier today?" Ginny asked.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny angled her body towards him. "Oh, yes, you do. You were pretty upset about that thing with the potion and the bond."

"Well, would _you_ like it if you found out you were permanently bonded to Malfoy?"

She sighed. "No. But we're not talking about me, are we? You heard Hermione. It's no big deal. So you have a few happy feelings left over. So what? It was an intense spell, and you were likely to get that anyway, even without the potion. So what is it really?"

Harry's stomach twisted. He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure how she would react. "I—it's complicated," he said lamely.

"I can see that." Ginny crossed her arms and sat there looking at him. That phrase appeared to work on her no better than it had on Draco.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly while he tried to find a way to satisfy Ginny without telling her everything. He couldn't do it. "I can't, Gin. I just…" He let his voice trail off, pleading silently with her to understand.

"You fancy him." She didn't sound either angry or surprised.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. But it's more than that. We sort of had a…thing."

"A 'thing'? What kind of—oh. _Oh_." She pulled a face. "Malfoy? Really?"

"Yes, really," Harry snapped. "It probably would've been nothing, just messing about a little 'cause he found out I'm gay. That's all it was supposed to be. But after that damn potion, we—" He cleared his throat. "We, er, you know."

"Snogged? Fooled around a bit?" She asked. When he shook his head and felt his face heat up, she said, "Oh, Merlin. You _shagged Malfoy_?"

"Um. Well, not properly, no. But…more or less, yeah." He buried his face in his hands. Eventually, he looked up at Ginny. "Now you see the problem. If none of that was real, then we shouldn't have done it."

Ginny suddenly smacked Harry in the arm. "You complete idiot."

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Harry, the potion couldn't possibly have made you feel all that. Were you not listening to Hermione? She said it just enhances the feelings you already had. So tell me—did it have the same effect with Luna or Hannah?"

"Well, no, but they're _girls_. It would have been different, yeah?"

She huffed. "No, I meant the bonding in general. Did your feelings for them get that intense?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "No, not really. I mean, it felt good—but it was different even to how it is with you, and nowhere near what it's like with Ron or Hermione." He frowned. "And honestly, I could tell it was the potion with them. With Draco, too, for that matter. When we took it and did the spells, I could tell where the connection ended."

"Then there's your answer," Ginny said. She looked thoughtful. "I don't think you're afraid that the feelings weren't real. I think you're afraid they _were_."

"No, I—" He stopped, knowing she was right but refusing to admit it.

She put her hand on his arm. "These may be the realest feelings you've had in a long time. Don't stop them." She grinned. "So, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to see him again?"

Harry slouched down on the bench and groaned. "No. He heard me saying I didn't want to be bonded to him and took off." He sighed. "He's leaving, Gin. He didn't tell me, and he doesn't want to see me because he thinks I don't want him."

"Well, then, you're just going to have to convince him you do."

"I can't. He's back home, and then he'll be out of the country for several months."

"Owl him," she said. She gave him a pointed look. "You need to talk to Ron and Hermione first, though. You at least have got to tell them about us."

"I know." He stared at the ground. "I can't keep that particular secret anymore." He glanced sideways at Ginny. "You'll come with me?"

"Of course." She paused. "And I think I know how to take attention off of you. I've been waiting for a private moment to tell you, but we were too busy working on the Room. I have a secret of my own."

"Please don't tell me you're in love with Draco too," he said, not thinking about what he was saying.

Ginny's mouth fell open, but she recovered quickly and didn't comment on his slip. "Er, no. But it just might have been better if I were."

"Why?"

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts in September," she said. "I'll be the third Weasley not to finish my education."

"What? Why not?" Harry asked.

"I didn't want to anyway—it's just too hard. I wasn't sure what I was going to do—maybe ask George if I could work with him in the shop when he reopens. But then, while we were at school this summer, I found out about the professional Quidditch trials and I went. The rest of you were working on the Room, and I said I had to revise my notes on potions. Obviously, that's not what I was doing."

"So, what happened?"

Ginny grinned. "I'll be a second-string Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Ginny, that's brilliant!" Harry reached for her and drew her into a fierce hug.

When he let her go, she said, "You see why Mum and Dad won't be happy. I'll bet Ron will have something to say about it, too."

They sat quietly for a little while, but eventually, they both knew it was time to go. "Owl me, all right?" Ginny said. "When you want to talk to Ron and Hermione."

"I will."

They stood up, and Harry resized his trunk to fit in his pocket; Ginny did the same. They embraced, holding each other for a long time. At last they parted ways, and Harry watched her step back into the main station. He gave her a few seconds before he, too, stepped away from Platform 9 3/4 for what was very likely the last time ever.


	23. Chapter 23

**XXIII**

When they had been back almost a week, Harry decided it was time to tell Ron and Hermione the truth—leaving out some of the details, of course. There was no need to talk to them about a relationship that, for all intents and purposes, did not actually exist. He didn't bother owling them separately; he used an ordinary post owl to send one letter to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny collectively, asking them to meet him at number twelve, Grimmauld Place on Saturday afternoon.

They arrived together. Harry wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, he wouldn't have to wait awkwardly for a straggler to turn up. On the other, it meant he was out of time. At least he had a plan. He thought he might be able to take some pressure off both coming out and Ginny's news with revealing his other little secret, which had somehow fallen by the wayside during their busy summer.

The first thing Hermione said when they arrived was, "Ooh, Harry, you've already done so much here."

"Yes, thanks to Bill," Harry replied. Fire-calling him had been a good idea; he'd rid the entry of all the defunct protective spells and placed new wards. It would take more effort to address the Fidelius charm still somewhat in effect, but Bill seemed confident it could be done. For a lot of reasons, Harry thought it might be best to create a new one once the old one was gone.

So far, Harry had finished only the main floor and the kitchen below. Surprisingly, Kreacher had been most helpful in removing the sticking charm that kept his mistress Walburga Black affixed to the wall. Harry had promised Kreacher could have her if he would please just take her down. He had no idea where Kreacher had put her; the portrait wasn't in his sleeping space, and Harry didn't ask any questions. It was enough that she was gone.

He led them down to the kitchen, where Kreacher had kindly prepared a pot of tea and left it keeping hot for them. Harry had not asked him to leave them alone, but since moving there permanently, Kreacher seemed to have become attuned to Harry's needs. He supposed it was some magic of house-elves that they could do such things. He didn't dare ask Hermione lest he receive an earful about how he should have set Kreacher free or at least sent him to Hogwarts where he would have company.

Harry set out cups and placed a tin of biscuits in the middle of the table which no one touched. They all sat down, and Harry cleared his throat.

"So," he said. "I've something to tell you."

"Don't tell me you're not going to start training with me," Ron said.

Harry frowned. "No, of course not. What would make you think that?"

"You made it sound like bad news, mate. I couldn't think of anything worse than what we've already been through, so I figured maybe you'd changed your mind about being an Auror."

"That's not it."

"Then what?" Hermione asked. "You're starting to scare us."

"Sorry. It's just…well, the reason I asked Ginny to come along is that it concerns her, too, though she already knows."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, and Harry couldn't read what was behind it. "Go on," Hermione said.

"The thing is, we're not really going to get back together."

Sitting back, Ron laughed. "We already worked that out."

"How? And why aren't you angry with me?"

"Honestly, Harry. Did you think we would miss something like that? It was obvious. We," Hermione gestured between herself and Ron, "were always together. Neville was sneaking off with Hannah. But you stayed by yourself, and Ginny spent time with her friends. You weren't very good at hiding it, if that's what you were trying to do."

"We're not angry with you because Ginny wasn't sobbing in a corner someplace," Ron added. "If she'd seemed upset, though…"

"Yeah. I know." He pursed his lips. "I suppose you'll want to know why."

Ron shrugged and looked at Ginny. "It doesn't matter, does it? Neither of you seems unhappy."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Harry, is there something you want to tell us?"

She had asked, and there was nothing for it but to tell them. It was almost a relief. "Er…yes." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to decide where to begin. He glanced at Ginny, who nodded her encouragement. He didn't want to startle the others the way he had with her. He took a deep breath. "The thing is…well…I don't really like girls."

"As in, you just don't like girls, or as in you like blokes instead?" Ron asked.

"The second." His heart rate sped up, and his hands were sweaty. "I'm gay." Saying it for the third time wasn't necessarily any easier than the first two had been.

"Ah, that explains quite a bit," Hermione mused.

"Er...such as?" Harry didn't like the look on her face.

"That's why you were so upset about the long-term effects of the potion," she continued.

Panic welled up in Harry's chest. "N-no, I—"

"Hermione! Are you saying the potion made him think he's in love with bloody _Malfoy_?" Ron stared at her, letting his mouth hang open.

"Of course not!" she huffed. "Just that he might be concerned that it could affect his future relationships if he's magically bound to another man. Is that right, Harry?"

"Er…sort of, yeah." He breathed a sigh of relief. For once, Hermione's shrewd thinking had taken her in quite the wrong direction, and he was grateful.

"You really have nothing to worry about," she told him. "It doesn't work like that."

"I know."

None of them said anything further for the moment. Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable, but other than that, no one seemed prepared to give him a rough time. Harry listed the conversation as a success. He glanced at Ginny, his eyebrows raised in question. She shook her head a little, and Harry wondered why she didn't want to say anything yet. He swallowed, deciding his friends deserved to know the other thing.

"There's something else you should know," he said. When they all looked his way, he opened his mouth and hissed, " _I can still talk to snakes_."

Naturally, they didn't understand precisely what he'd said, but they got his meaning. Three sets of eyes widened and three mouths dropped open, staring at him for a full twenty seconds.

Eventually, Hermione whispered, "How?"

Harry sighed. "I didn't understand it at first, but let me show you something." He led them up the stairs and into the room where the Black family tapestry hung. It was one of the things he had intended to remove eventually, but after he had discovered the truth, he had decided it was far too interesting and he would leave it alone.

He pointed to a spot on the tapestry. "Do you see this?" he asked. When they all nodded, he continued, "Charlus Potter. I thought at first that he might be my granddad, as I never knew much about my father's family."

"Is he?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "No. He was my grandfather's brother, the youngest of ten, most of whom didn't survive some plague or other. But finding him on here made me curious about my family's connection to the Blacks. Do you remember the first time we cleaned this house? Well, Sirius told me about his family tree, and he said all the pureblood families are related somehow. My father's family were all purebloods." The thought made Harry uncomfortable in a way he couldn't quite explain. He brushed it off and continued. "See this?" He pointed to a burn mark two generations above Charlus Potter. "That's Phineas Black. Not the one in the portrait, his son."

"Go on," Hermione said.

"Phineas married someone called Dulcinea Gaunt," Harry said softly. "Their daughter, Lyra, was my grandmother."

"But that makes you a Black," Ron said. "Sort of."

"Sort of," Harry agreed. "Distantly, anyway."

"And a Gaunt," Hermione whispered with a shudder.

"Yes, exactly," Harry replied.

"What does that have to do with being able to speak Parseltongue, though? I thought that was only because Vold—"

Hermione nudged Ron's foot with her toe, but Harry said, "Ginny knows. I told her. And no, Voldemort wasn't the only reason. Remember how I said that all the old families are related? If you go back far enough, they share ancestors. Can you think of who they might be?"

Hermione, of course, caught his meaning immediately. "The Peverells."

"Right," Harry answered. "The Gaunts were descendants of Cadmus—they had his ring. The Blacks appear to be in Antioch's line, if my research was correct. And my family came from Ignotus—though you already knew that much."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes wide and shining. "That means you are the only living descendant of all three of the brothers."

"As far as I know, yes. I'm definitely the last of Ignotus' line, and probably Cadmus' too. But there are other living heirs of Antioch. Teddy Lupin is currently the youngest."

"I still don't understand why that means you can speak Parseltongue," Ron said impatiently.

Harry replied, "It's in my Gaunt ancestry, I think, like with Tom Riddle." He sighed. "Aside from every member of Riddle's immediate family, though, I only know of three other confirmed Parselmouths—and I'm one of them. Slytherin himself was another, and I believe the Gaunts all considered themselves his descendants."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "You don't suppose it really is just some remnant of magic left from Voldemort being part of you for so long?"

"No. I destroyed every bit of him that was inside me."

"Which means that Professor Dumbledore was wrong," Hermione said. "Voldemort didn't give you that gift. It was yours all along."

"And we were wrong, too. Riddle was convinced he was the Heir of Slytherin, and maybe he was, once. But…" Harry chewed his lip. "So 'm I, according to what I found."

Ginny shivered, and Hermione put her arm around her. Ron's face was white.

"Doesn't it bother you, though?" he asked. "It's supposed to just be Dark Wizards can do it."

Harry looked around at his friends, and suddenly he felt determined. He lifted his chin defiantly as he said, "I think it's time that gift stopped being associated with evil, don't you?" He held his breath and waited.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I do." She smiled warmly at him. "You've used your gift for great good, Harry. You're proof that it doesn't belong just to Dark Wizards."

He let out the breath he'd been holding and smiled back. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, and something in the air, some tension they'd been holding on to for months, shattered. The frayed bond among them healed itself. Trust, Harry reflected, was powerful magic.

When they pulled back, Hermione said, "Welcome home, Harry." And with that, the last piece slid back into place. He was, indeed, home.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny remained at Harry's for dinner before using his Floo to return to the Burrow. Now that the truth was in the open, Harry relaxed. He decided that in the aftermath, the best thing might be to draw a bath and go to bed, so he did just that.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains first-time anal sex. First times are rarely perfect, and it wouldn't have fit the characters or the story to suddenly have them be as smooth as porn stars. I hope I've achieved the right balance of love, passion, and awkwardness. Also, no hate mail about the condoms, please. Don't eff with the health educator, man! And for god's sake, please be safe, dears. I'm convinced someday my own kids will just roll their eyes at me for saying it for the hundredth time.

 

**XXIV**

After that, things were far less strained between Harry and his closest friends. Hermione was supportive in the way only she could be. Harry very patiently did not laugh at her when she handed him a large stack of books for gay wizards—he had not known such volumes existed—including at least one that made him blush furiously later on when he paged through them. To Ron's credit, he said very little about it after their initial conversation. Harry decided that in Ron's case, that was due partly to the fact that he no longer had to think about what Harry might be doing with his sister.

They didn't comment further on his other revelation either, mostly because Ginny finally confessed her secret. When she refused to accompany Hermione to Diagon Alley for books, there was nothing for it but to tell everyone. It took an enormous amount of pressure off Harry, as everyone else was busy berating Ginny for neglecting her education. In the end, the potential for being related to a famous Quidditch star won out, and a week before she left for training, they threw her a good-luck party.

At the party, Harry had a difficult enough time enjoying himself that Ginny finally cornered him to tell him off for moping. Knowing what the problem was, she asked what he had done to contact Draco—which, of course, had been nothing at all. Reluctantly, Harry told her that, and she admonished him. He knew she was right; when Ginny left for training, Hermione would head back to school, he and Ron would join the Aurors, and Draco would leave the country. He had to act or it would be too late.

In the morning, he sent an owl.

_I need to see you. Please talk to me. It's important. I don't want to leave things where we did._

The note he received back was curt and to the point, delivered by a particularly haughty eagle owl.

_Whatever it is, owl it. I don't have time._

Harry replied,

_I'd rather do this in person. There's something I need to tell you._

This time, Draco's note was a bit longer, but he still wasn't giving in.

_No, thanks. I believe you already said it all. You made yourself clear the last time we spoke._

Harry decided to change tactics.

_Meet me at mine tomorrow at noon. Otherwise, I am going to Apparate straight to the manor, knock on the door, and ask to speak to your mother. She likes me because I saved your arse, so I know she'll talk to me. She's not likely to be pleased that you're being a stubborn git. It's No. 12, Grimmauld Place, by the way._

The reply was a single word.

_Fine._

Harry grinned, imagining Draco reading his note. He sobered, though, when he realised this meant actually talking to Draco. He would need to plan carefully.

* * *

Draco was late. Harry nearly thought he might have to carry out his threat when someone knocked on the door. When he opened it, he had to keep from sucking in his breath. Draco looked… _good_. Harry was suddenly struck by the resemblance he now bore to Sirius in his younger years, save the pale hair and skin. He had lost the pinched, pointed look he'd had for the last few years, and there was a softness that he hadn't possessed when they were schoolmates. It made his sharp features more gentle, and Harry liked it.

"What do you want, Potter? I'm very busy packing. You know Mother and I leave on holiday next Tuesday."

"Yes. Which is why I needed to see you."

"You wanted your freedom, and now you have it. What more could there possibly be to discuss?"

"This." In lieu of making a speech or pleading his case or explaining what had happened, Harry merely stepped into Draco's personal space and backed him against the door. He had to reach up—Draco was a good head taller—but he pulled him into a fierce embrace, kissing him for all he was worth. It took a millisecond of resistance before Draco caved and began to kiss back.

After several glorious minutes, Harry reluctantly released his hold on Draco and pulled away. He folded his arms and looked at Draco, waiting for him to say something.

"Experimenting again?" Draco asked, but there was no anger behind it.

"No," Harry said. "I don't need to experiment to know what I want."

"Aren't you afraid this isn't real?" Draco sneered, but his voice wavered a little.

"I'm not, no." He repeated Ginny's words to him: "This may be the realest thing I've ever felt."

Draco closed his eyes, the last of his cool exterior slipping away. "I wanted you for so long. You've no idea."

"You—" Harry paused. "Then you didn't mean it when you said kissing you the first time was just an experiment."

"For you, I expect it was. Not for me." Draco opened his eyes again.

"How long?"

"Long. Years, maybe."

Something clunked into place. "Your crush?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Draco snickered. "You weren't the one that I told you about, no. I only meant that I think this is what I wanted without realising it."

"Oh." That was oddly disappointing.

Draco reached out and touched Harry's cheek. "I _knew_ wanted you from the time you came back for me when Vince set that damned fire."

"You were worth saving."

"Which is exactly why I fell for you." His grey eyes glinted. "You saw something in me that I no longer even saw in myself."

Harry drew him close for another long kiss. This time, they continued until they were both breathless. Harry drew back a little and said, "Let's move this upstairs."

He led Draco through the house, smiling at his awe as they passed various Black family heirlooms but refusing to answer any questions. That could wait. He was afraid that if he didn't ask Draco for what he wanted right then, he would lose his courage. They entered Harry's room and closed the door, leaning against it and snogging again for some time. When Draco eagerly pressed his arousal against him and tugged lightly at his shirt, Harry pulled away to look at him.

"I want to do something."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Harry swallowed and stepped back, squaring his shoulders. "I want—I want you to fuck me." He felt his neck prickle with heat at his own bold suggestion.

"I—" Draco's eyes were wide. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you."

Draco fidgeted. "You know I've never done that."

"I trust you," Harry repeated. "I haven't either, but we'll figure it out together." He put a hand on Draco's arm. "Unless you don't want to. I would never, ever force you."

"No, I do want to. All right."

Slowly, they undressed, and Harry laid his glasses on the bedside table. He opened a drawer and drew out several items. While he was arranging them on the table, He felt warm hands on his back.

"You expected I would stay," Draco said softly.

Harry partially turned to kiss him on the mouth. "I hoped so, yes."

They lay down on the bed facing each other, kissing and touching. Harry thought he could have gone on for hours or days doing only that, but need began to build in him and he wanted more. He withdrew and rolled so that he was on his stomach.

He turned his head to the side and said, "It'll be easier like this."

"What do you want me to do?" Draco whispered, low and full of sensual promise. Harry knew he was genuinely asking, but his pride would not allow him anything other than sounding like an attentive lover.

"Here." He reached over to grab a small vial and handed it to Draco.

Draco opened it and inhaled the fragrance of cloves. He hesitated for a moment before he poured a little onto his hand.

"It's all right," Harry assured him. "You can touch me."

Gently, Draco began to prepare him. Harry guided and encouraged him, making soft sounds to let Draco know what felt right. It helped that he'd read that one book, though he thought he might refrain from offering Hermione his thanks. As he relaxed, he began to enjoy the feel of Draco's fingers inside him, and he moved his hips. Draco did something that made him gasp.

"Okay?" Draco asked, pausing.

"Yeah. Do that again."

Draco continued until Harry knew he couldn't wait any longer. Reaching over again, he grabbed a condom. He'd gone over various options, Muggle and Wizard, and settled on condoms for the sake of making less mess. Even if he hadn't known how to use one, there had been an entire chapter in one of the books; apparently, some wizards found them fascinating.

Harry opened the foil and handed it to Draco. He peered around to see Draco looking at it quizzically and turning it over in his hand.

"You roll it onto your dick. Do you want some help?"

"All right." A little of the cool haughtiness returned, and Harry knew he was embarrassed at needing assistance.

Putting the condom on properly turned out to be rather interesting, and Harry filed it away for future reference that Draco found it to be such a highly pleasurable experience. He turned over again and made himself comfortable, tucking a pillow under his hips. He nudged Draco, who positioned himself behind Harry.

Slowly, Draco pushed forwards, sliding inside. Harry sucked his breath in; it hurt more than he'd expected. He tried to relax. "Wait," he said through clenched teeth. After a moment, he had adjusted a bit. "Okay. Just go slow."

He could feel Draco shaking as he tried again. He had gotten partway in when Harry heard him murmur, "You feel good…" and inhale sharply. He thrust a little, slowly at first and then more erratically. He was no longer even trying to push in further. It didn't matter; Harry thought the shallow angle felt fantastic.

It only lasted a couple of minutes. "I can't—" Draco gasped right before he tensed and ceased moving. He cried out, and Harry knew he had come.

Carefully, Draco withdrew and collapsed down onto the bed. He turned onto his side and curled into Harry, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder. "God. I'm so sorry," he kept repeating.

Harry was confused at first, until he felt Draco trembling against him and he realised it was in fear and not pleasure. He turned over. "Shh," he murmured. "It's okay."

"I failed you. Please, don't—"

"No, you didn't. I won't hurt you, love. Not ever. I promise." Harry stroked his hair and kissed him tenderly. He folded Draco into his arms.

When Draco's breathing had slowed and he was no longer quivering, he slid his hand to touch Harry's cheek. "Let me make it up to you." He kissed Harry's jaw and began a slow, slightly awkward path down his chest. When he reached the oval scar, he traced it with his tongue, making Harry shiver. With his fingers, he teased one of Harry's nipples while using his lips to gently brush the other. He chuckled when Harry squirmed.

He resumed his descent, finally stopping at Harry's erection. Slowly, gently, he engulfed it in his mouth, concentrating on the most sensitive areas. It was the most incredible sensation Harry had ever felt. He had nothing to compare it to and so had no idea if it was 'right', but it didn't matter. He moaned, tilting his head back. He became aware that if Draco continued, he would come undone. He gasped and tugged on Draco's hair, causing him to pull away and look up.

"Stop," Harry panted. "I'm going to come."

Draco didn't seem to be in the mood for a mouthful, so he nodded and shifted his position. He kissed Harry, who tasted himself on his lips and tried not to shudder at the strangeness. Draco used his hand to stroke Harry, bringing him to completion with a sharp groan of satisfaction.

Afterward, they cleaned up, and Draco moved to get dressed. "Stay with me?" Harry asked.

Draco chuckled. "It's the middle of the day, and my mother doesn't know where I've gone. I need to go home." He leaned down to kiss Harry while buttoning his shirt. "Tonight?" He quirked an eyebrow at Harry.

"Yes, please." Harry grinned.

"Til tonight, then." He touched Harry's cheek one last time before leaving the bedroom.


	25. Chapter 25

 

**XXV**

For almost a week, Draco visited every evening after his parents retired to bed. He spent nearly the whole night, but he was always gone in the morning. Their last night together, however, he woke Harry before dawn.

Harry stretched and yawned. "What is it?"

Already fully dressed, Draco sat down on the bed next to Harry. "I'm leaving. But this time, I didn't want to go without saying goodbye."

"Mm. I'm glad you didn't." Harry pulled him down into a kiss, hoping it might turn into more but knowing that it was unlikely; he could smell Draco's freshly shampooed hair.

Draco pulled away and sighed. "This can't work, you know."

"What can't work?"

"Us. This." Draco gestured between them.

Harry sat up. "Why not?" he demanded.

"I'm going to be gone for months at a time, sometimes without much way to contact you. It's not healthy."

"Maybe you should let me be part of deciding that," Harry said, scowling. His heart was in his throat. Was Draco really ending things?

Draco looked away for a moment then sighed and returned his gaze to Harry. "We've only ever been with each other. Wasn't that part of the problem with the Weas—Ginny?"

"No, the problem with Ginny was that I'm _gay_." Harry huffed.

"Which you might have known sooner if you hadn't simply expected—or been expected to—fall for her. I'm not saying we can't have something. I'm only asking that we not try to define it yet. See other people sometimes, maybe."

"So, what you're really saying is that you want the freedom to fuck who you want when you want and not have me be hacked off about it." Harry crossed his arms.

Draco shrugged. "It's a long time between visits. I'm saying that neither of us needs to feel guilty if something happens. If we're agreed not to be exclusive, we have no reason to be upset with each other."

Harry sighed. The greater part of him wanted to be selfish for once, keep Draco all for his own. But he wasn't ready to admit how far he'd already fallen, especially now that Draco sounded so unsure about their future. A small part of him knew Draco was right; the time away from each other could create friction if either of them felt weighted down by the relationship. Unless he gave in, he feared he would lose Draco forever. He did the only thing he could do; he agreed.

"All right."

Draco touched his cheek, a now-familiar affectionate gesture. "We can still see where this goes," he promised. "We have time to find out if it will work. You did that for us, Harry. You gave us that time."

"You'll owl me when you can?"

"Of course. As often as possible. And I'll be home for a bit at Christmas, so we'll see each other then." He leaned down and kissed Harry. "Good-bye for now," he whispered.

"'Bye," Harry replied.

Draco rose from the bed and gave Harry one last, longing look before he left, pulling the door to on his way out. Harry flopped back onto the bed. At least he had another few hours to sleep before seeing Hermione and Ginny off and joining Ron at the Ministry for their first day of training. He buried his face in his pillow and fought back the hurt and angry tears that threatened. Eventually, his breathing slowed and he felt relaxed enough to settle down. As he nodded off again, his last thoughts were a mix of sadness, anxiety, and excitement. It was going to be a long, long few years.

* * *

Before September was out, Ron moved in with George above the shop. George had re-opened in August, and Ron made a case that he had to help his brother when he wasn't busy with training. That made Harry chuckle under his breath. He knew the real reason Ron wanted to move out was that Molly still wouldn't let Hermione share his room at the Burrow when she visited at the weekends. Tired of sneaking around and fearing Molly would catch them, he decided they needed a bit of space. George said he couldn't be arsed about where anyone slept—or didn't, as the case might be—in the flat. All he asked was that they "shag in your own bed and not mine or the sofa, thanks." Hermione was not pleased, but Ron thought it was hilarious.

Harry helped out occasionally as well, cleaning and taking inventory. Now and again Ginny came round when she had a spare day away from training. Harry's former school teammate, Angelina Johnson, also played for the Harpies, and she frequently accompanied Ginny. Sometimes, she and George disappeared into the back where he did all his testing. He claimed he wanted her opinion on all things related to the Wonder Witch line.

More often than not, George's friend Lee Jordan was there too, and he seemed pleased to be able to speak with two professional Quidditch players simultaneously. Harry smiled at the way Lee flirted with Ginny when the others weren't in earshot; he suspected he was the only one who appreciated it and so kept it to himself. It wouldn't be the first time a Weasley brother's best mate had fallen for their younger sister.

In the meantime, Harry still had not told the others about his ongoing long-distance relationship with Draco. He decided it would've made little difference. They had an agreement, and there was no point in making anything of it unless and until he returned from abroad. It wasn't easy to keep it secret, however. Loneliness bred isolating himself whenever he knew he would have to be around happy couples. Consequently, his friends misread his angst, and Harry found himself enduring an endless string of attempts at drawing him out by setting him up on dates.

George in particular was relentless, but as he did not know Harry was gay, Harry consistently had to turn down his suggestions. Eventually, in the interest of not being fixed up with any more witches, Harry finally confessed to George. Rather than giving in, however, George merely switched to offering wizards. Out of necessity to avoid explaining the uncomfortable truth about Draco, Harry agreed to let George introduce him to 'a few nice blokes'.

They were nearly all exactly that—nice, bland fellows who never once sparked more than mild interest on Harry's part. One date in particular ended on a rather unpleasant note. The man took Harry for dinner at an elegant establishment and clearly had expectations. He had far too much wine, and when they stepped behind the restaurant so Harry could Apparate him safely home, the man tried to snog him. He was too rough, and Harry threatened to hex him. The result was that the man ended up in tears, repeatedly saying he was sorry and that he would never hurt anyone and that he'd thought they had a 'connection'. He got sick all over the alleyway, and Harry, thoroughly disgusted by that point, simply left him there in the interest of not winding up being dragged into the man's house and assaulted should he take the man home.

After that, Harry politely declined any further invitations from men he didn't know. He briefly entertained the notion of dating Muggles but decided against it. For one thing, he couldn't use magic around them, and that might make it harder if he found himself in another compromising situation. For another, it could only ever be a one-off, and he wasn't sure that was what he wanted. In the end, he decided he simply wasn't ready just yet to take advantage of the flexible relationship he had with Draco. He opted to spend more time with his friends and satisfy any other needs on his own. It was only a few months until Christmas, after all, and he could finally see Draco briefly then.

Harry and Draco exchanged frequent owls while Draco was on holiday in France. Draco sent charmed postcards that appeared innocent at first glance but turned out to be rather naughty once one figured out how to work the charm. The first hadn't been much, really, but subsequent postcards featured images that had Harry blushing furiously at their suggestive nature. He hoped none of his friends ever had opportunity to rummage in his night-stand for any reason, as that was where he stored them. Just in case he wanted to re-read Draco's notes, of course.

He sent letters back, naturally, mostly just about what he was doing or whinging about some of his less pleasant fellow Aurors-in-training. He particularly disliked a rowdy bloke by the name of Russell, a burly man with more than a hint of swagger. Every time Harry was partnered with him for training exercises, it was all he could do not to hex Russell for his inappropriate comments and lack of sensitivity to human or beast.

Despite his busy schedule and the steady stream of owls from Draco, the months dragged on. Harry looked forward to Christmas and a welcome break both from the separation and the brutal training sessions. He was so caught up in the anticipation that he failed to notice two things—first, that his anxieties had begun to come out in odd manifestations of his magic, and second, that his friends had already noticed his level of stress. It simply never occurred to him to talk to them about any of it nor that they would've been paying attention to his cues.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read several very good fics in which Harry has a pet snake. I've always liked the idea, maybe because I personally love them. They're such beautiful and affectionate creatures. Sadly, I'm the only member of my family who feels this way. The particular variety mentioned in this chapter is known for being a good family pet. They're fairly small and their patterns and colors are absolutely lovely.

**XXVI**

Harry spent most of his time off at Christmas with Draco. He would be leaving after New Year's for his programme, and Harry would be back in the training rooms at the Ministry. They made the most of their time together, though Draco continued to refuse to stay the whole night. Harry never pushed; they had agreed not to define whatever-it-was, and he wasn't about to do anything that might mean not seeing Draco. As it was, they would have to say goodbye far too soon for Harry's liking.

Draco's gift for Harry was an owl of his own. Harry had never considered replacing Hedwig, but he'd had to admit that the public owls were far from ideal. They could be a bit snippy, and they weren't nearly as reliable as personal owls. Due to the distance, it wasn't fair to keep making Draco's horned owl, Cygnus, do all the work. Together, concealed by Glamours to avoid attention, they went to Diagon Alley and chose Harry's companion—a gentle barn owl he named Vesta.

Hermione, back for an extended stay between terms, was the first to point out that Harry seemed irritable and withdrawn. She didn't use those particular terms, of course, but she did suggest he appeared to be 'a little tired' and 'in need of more company than an ancient house-elf'. Much to his relief, she never told him he needed to find a romantic partner. Instead, she suggested that he find a suitable non-human companion with whom to share his personal space. Harry suspected she meant a Kneazle or a Crup or something else equally cute, but he had a different sort of pet in mind.

In the interest of practising his Parseltongue and learning how he might be able to use the gift, he bought a snake—a hognose with a beautiful pattern of chocolate brown, grey, and cream. He called her Cherise, as it was fairly easy to say in Parseltongue and he liked that it meant 'darling'. He grew fond of her very quickly, and he doted on her by turning one of his spare rooms into a greenhouse for her. For her part, she seemed to adore him right back. She appreciated her habitat, but if Harry was at home, she preferred to ride around on his shoulder or wound around his arm, keeping up a steady commentary on whatever he was doing.

Surprisingly, Vesta also took to her. They became fast friends, and on many days, Harry found himself shadowed by his two very curious pets. He had not been aware that owls and snakes were able to communicate with each other, but apparently, they could. Cherise appeared to enjoy translating between Harry and Vesta. It was odd, but over time, it became comforting and familiar.

Draco did not comment about Cherise, but it was clear he was slightly uncomfortable with that particular addition to Harry's household. Harry informed his new friend that she was to be kind to him, as he was a bit nervous about snakes. That was of interest to her, and it made her prone to slinking around Draco and watching over his shoulder to see what he would do. Harry didn't translate for Draco what she was saying about him, and the result was amusing—Draco deemed her behavior condescending and blamed it on her pretentious French name.

All too soon, Draco left on his travels. They said goodbye the day after New Year's, both trying to hold back for the sake of the other. In the end, they made a tearful promise to owl one another as often as they could. Harry pledged to stay safe while training, and Draco assured him he would take care to remain in one piece. It was a terrible loss for both of them, regardless of how little they wanted to admit it to each other.

* * *

Harry suffered another loss in June when Kreacher passed away. He had been old, and the war had taken its toll on him. Harry knew he was finally at peace, but he couldn't help missing the grouchy elf's presence. Not only that, he was now in a position to take care of his house on his own; he couldn't fathom replacing Kreacher, and Hermione probably would've gone off on him if he had. Living entirely alone for the first time in his life produced its own set of challenges. For one thing, Harry had to cook for himself. He knew how, of course, from his years doing it for the Dursleys. But that was Muggle cooking—he had no idea how to do it the magical way. He was going to need some help.

He decided that this was probably as good a time as any to make amends with Molly Weasley. After he and Ginny had parted ways, he had avoided spending much time there. After all, he wasn't truly one of her children, and Ginny had been more or less his possibility for permanent involvement. He had been certain that Molly and Arthur would be so disappointed that they would not want to see Harry, at least for a while. He'd spent a somewhat sad and tense Christmas at the Burrow, but he hadn't been back since.

The time had come, though, to try to make peace. He could apologise for his failure to make things work with Ginny as well as enlisting Molly's help with household spells. The woman was a veritable tome. He sent Vesta with a message telling Molly he wanted to talk to her and needed a favour.

Her reply was swift. Of course Harry should come round, she said. She invited him to stop by on Sunday, and he was welcome to stay for dinner with the rest of the family if he liked. Harry decided he would wait to see how angry she was with him about Ginny first.

Molly was definitely angry with him, that was for sure. But Harry was surprised to discover why.

"Why haven't you been round to see us sooner?" she demanded. "We've all been worried about you, all alone in that dreadful old house."

"It wasn't so bad. Kreacher helped me fix it up. You should see it now." Harry swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

"Well, I should hope so. But still! You've been all alone, dear. You should have come to see us."

"I've been busy with training."

"That's what Ron always says too." She sighed, and then she glared at Harry. "But _he_ comes for Sunday dinners."

Harry didn't meet her gaze. "Well, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. But first, I really need a favour."

"So you said. What is it, dear?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "I need you to teach me how to cook. I mean, I know how to cook, but not the magical way. Kreacher died, and—"

Molly was suddenly all business. "Right, then. Follow me into the kitchen."

Harry didn't get around to telling Molly anything that day, though he did stay for dinner. Over the course of the summer, it became a regular thing: Harry arrived at the Burrow in the early afternoon to help Molly prepare dinner, learning all her wonderful spells and shortcuts. He would stay and eat, and various other extended and expanding families would join them. This included Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, giving Harry the chance to get to know his godson in the process.

This had gone on for some time when Harry decided he needed to stop avoiding the subject and just tell Molly the truth. He found it easier to talk when he was busy doing something else at the same time. Molly handed him a large bowl and a crate of eggs and asked him to begin cracking them using his wand.

As he raised the eggs over the bowl, he said, "I know you must be disappointed that things didn't work out with Ginny and me, and I'm sorry."

"It's all right, dear. These things happen."

"Well, the thing is, I'm sure you want to know why." He cracked the first egg and it landed neatly in the bowl. He waved the shells into the rubbish bin.

"I suppose that's your business. But if there's something you want to tell me, you certainly may."

Harry swallowed. He raised another egg, stalling. "Erm." He cracked the second egg.

Without turning around, Molly said, "Just four should be enough. Go on, dear. You were saying?"

Harry waved away the shell from the third egg and raised the fourth. "Er, I…I didn't want to marry Ginny because I'm gay." He let the egg hover, waiting for Molly's response. His hand was shaking a little, and the egg wavered over the bowl.

"Ah. Well, yes, I knew that," Molly replied over the sound of the peeler.

Harry was so startled that he dropped the egg, shell and all, into the bowl. Molly turned around and tsk'd, fishing the shell out with her wand and depositing it with the others.

When Harry had found his voice again, he squeaked, "You knew?" That explained why she wasn't more upset.

"I suspected, yes. Harry, dear, I'm a mother. Mums just know these things." She reached over and patted his cheek. "I may not have raised you, but you belong to this family as much as any of my children. I've known you since you were eleven. How could I have missed something so important in your life?"

"And…and you don't care?"

Molly looked confused. "Why on Earth would I care?"

Harry realised that there were still some things about the Wizarding world that he had yet to learn. He felt certain, particularly in light of Dudley's constant teasing, that it was indeed a Very Big Deal in the Muggle world. Perhaps unless one was a pureblood destined for power or producing heirs, one's sexuality was of very little interest to anyone. Or maybe it just didn't matter to Molly Weasley. In either case, Harry was immensely relieved.

With that out of the way, Harry was able to continue helping Molly prepare dinner. Four Weasleys down, four to go. He was sure he could do this.


	27. Chapter 27

 

**XXVII**

At the beginning of September, changes came about for their second year of training. The trainee Aurors were grouped and given team leaders. Harry and Ron were assigned to Smythe, a middle-aged man with iron-grey locks, a lot of facial hair, and a hearty laugh. If Harry were honest, Smythe was a bit intimidating, but he was friendly enough.

At that point, Harry had come out to only a few people and only because he believed they needed to know—Kingsley Shacklebolt, for one, and Dawlish, who had replaced Robards as Head Auror when Robards was promoted. He had been careful in public, as the press still followed him, and though his occasional dates knew who he was, he always used Glamours to keep everyone else in the dark. On the off-hand chance someone spotted him and worked it out, he hadn't especially wanted Rita Skeeter to be the one to tell those above him at the Ministry. Both Kingsley and Dawlish had been gracious and kind. With Smythe, Harry had hesitated. Something about the man made him think it wasn't a wise idea. He'd pushed his concerns aside, however, in favor of honesty with his immediate supervisor.

That turned out to be a mistake. One morning, he arrived at training to find that Smythe had divvied them up into pairs. Harry was pleased to see that Ron was his partner. They eyed each other over the table and grinned. The rest of their fellow trainees were also looking at the list with a mix of relief and consternation, depending on the pairing.

Russell glanced at the list and made a face. "I'm paired up with bloody Pennington. Figures." He shrugged and nodded his chin at Ron. "Least I'm not matched up with a shirt-lifter. Better you than me, mate."

The room was suddenly deathly silent. Harry's insides squirmed, and he had to fight the urge to either hit Russell or run from the room. He had no idea how Russell even knew. He gritted his teeth. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"You know exactly what it means," Russell fired back. "We all do. You didn't think you could keep it a secret, did you? We're in close quarters out there. I want to know I'm with someone I can count on."

Harry's temper rose. "So, I haven't proved that I can handle it? Or you think I'm going to be too busy ogling your ugly arse to save it?" Heat blossomed in his chest; he needed air. One of the charmed windows at the back of the room flew open, and the papers on the table rustled in the nonexistent breeze. Harry breathed in and out slowly, trying to steady himself.

Russell swept his hand around the room. "I'm not the only one. No one else wants to be partners with a fucking queer either. Why do you think Smythe put you with Weasley?" He sneered at Ron. "Though maybe Smythe had other reasons for that."

"Are you trying to say something about Ron? Because—"

Ron cut Harry off. "I've got this. So what if I _were_ queer? What, Russell, think being put with one of us is gonna turn you gay, too? Who someone shags in private shouldn't matter when we're out in the field—I certainly don't want to know whose knickers _you_ got in this week. So, as it's none of your fucking business whether some of us prefer cock, I suggest you sit down and shut the hell up for once. Maybe then we can all get out of here on time."

Smythe had chosen that moment to walk into the room. "Weasley, I heard that from down the hall. What have I told you about watching that foul mouth of yours? As for the rest of you, try something more productive and get out your schedules."

They sat down, and Harry shot Ron a grateful look. Ron merely shrugged, but Harry knew it had taken a lot for him to say anything. Over the past year, he'd been mostly silent on the issue of Harry's sexuality. Harry was even more grateful to be partnered with someone who really did have his back.

When training finished for the day, Smythe dismissed everyone but Harry. "Potter, I need to speak to you up in the Minister's office. Meet me there in ten."

Harry swallowed and nodded. He assumed it had something to do with Russell's outburst, though he could not think how what had happened was his fault. Gathering his things, he made to leave. He glanced up to see Ron waiting for him.

"Thanks," Harry said. "For this morning."

"'S all right. You going home?"

"Not yet." Harry sighed. "Meeting with Smythe up in Kingsley's office."

"That oughta be fun. For Russell, I mean. He should know better than to muck around in your personal life. I assume that's what this is about, yeah?"

"Probably." He bid Ron goodbye and made his way as slowly as he dared towards Kingsley's office.

It didn't make any sense. How could Russell possibly have had any idea? Unless—Harry stopped in his tracks. Smythe had outed him. That may have put Harry temporarily at a disadvantage with both Smythe and Russell, but it wasn't going to be a problem with Kingsley. If this was about the issue they'd had during training, Smythe was in for it.

Harry knocked on Kingsley's door and heard a booming, "Come in!" Hurriedly, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Ah, Potter. Smythe was just filling me in on what happened in the training room this morning when you managed to cause a small windstorm."

"Oh, was he?" Harry said through clenched teeth. "Minister, let me give you some details he probably left out. Such as the fact that he outed me—without my permission—to the entire team, causing Russell to refer to me as—pardon my language—a 'shirt-lifter' and a 'fucking queer' in front of everyone. So you'll pardon me if I don't have a lot of sympathy for Smythe having to clean up that mess when he arrived."

While Harry spoke, Kingsley's eyebrows had climbed higher and higher. When he was through, Kingsley turned his attention to Smythe. "That's certainly different from the explanation you gave me five minutes ago."

"I-I-I—" Smythe spluttered. "That's not why I asked to meet with you!"

"No? Then what was the reason?" Harry wanted to know.

Kingsley sighed. "He came to tell me that this is the third time in a month that you've caused inadvertent magic during a training session, creating a dangerous environment. He wanted to ask me what I suggest we do about that." He eyed Smythe coldly. "However, this does change things somewhat."

Smythe held his head up, his chin jutting out defiantly. "It was owed to them to know," he said. "We'll be doing intense training, and it's not fair to them that they find out after the fact and then feel uncomfortable." He turned towards Harry. "You weren't going to tell them, so I did."

Harry's mouth fell open for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "I didn't tell them because it was none of their goddamn business. I have no assurance that they'll all stay away from Rita Skeeter or one of the other reporters. In fact, I rather think the opposite is true after this morning." He hardly noticed—and certainly didn't care—that a large mug on Kingsley's desk shattered just then.

Pointing to the mug, Smythe said, "This is what I meant, Minister."

"Two things, Smythe. First, you should have brought your concerns to Dawlish before troubling me with it. The only reason I agreed to see you was because of my personal relationship to Potter. Second, you are now on leave until I see fit to bring you back. Featherstone will take your place with Potter's training group, and when and if you return to work, you will be on indefinite desk duty. Disclosing personal information about Ministry employees—regardless of their level—is unacceptable." When Smythe made no move to leave, Kingsley waved a hand at him dismissively. Smythe positively stormed out of Kingsley's office.

"Er…thanks, Minister," Harry said. He was relieved; Featherstone was tough, but she was also kind and personable. Harry had been disappointed not to be assigned to her in the first place.

"We're alone, Harry. You can drop the formality." Kingsley waved at a chair. "Please, sit."

Harry sat down, wondering what was coming next. "Was there something else?"

"Much as I hate to acknowledge it, Smythe is right about your magic. Something you'd like to tell me?"

"Nothing I can think of," Harry replied. There wasn't any good way to explain the stress of training plus maintaining his privacy and balancing a long-distance relationship no-one knew about.

"Smythe mentioned your several magical accidents recently, but he said it's not the first time this has happened. He's also not the only one who's noticed." Kingsley's gaze was piercing. "Smythe is under the impression it's unintentional, but your friends are not." More gently he said, "Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

Harry fought the urge to squirm. "I'm not suicidal, if that's what you mean. It's not on purpose. I'm just having a rough go right now, trying to keep everything together."

"It isn't going to get easier, you know. And after this unfortunate incident, it will be much more difficult—you will need to consider your options in light of Smythe's poor choice. It might be better if you dealt with the press yourself. You are still an icon, after all." Kingsley offered an encouraging smile. "You might consider how this could help the young witches and wizards who look up to you."

"I wasn't ready to be out to the world yet." Harry was still shaking a little, but no longer out of anger.

"You don't always have to be perfectly in control," Kingsley said. "It's obvious that the stress of this is affecting you. If you're out to the public—"

"You're not, and it doesn't seem to be causing a problem," Harry shot back. Kingsley looked hurt, and Harry suddenly hated himself for resorting to his old habit of pushing people away.

"This isn't about me." Kingsley sighed. "I am not asking, I am telling you that you need to get your personal problems addressed or you won't finish training." He passed a small card across his desk. "While you decide what to do about any reporters that may come knocking at your door, I'm going to send you to someone who can help you with the rest. In the Wizarding world, we tend to think there's a potion or a charm for every ill. Some Muggle-borns are beginning to believe otherwise and are using non-magical techniques to heal the mind. This is the name of a very good therapist." He smiled wryly. "She's American, but don't hold that against her."

Harry glanced at the card, which read, _Donita Mulligan_. "I'll try not to," he said.

"Good. I expect you to call her in the morning. Now go on home."

Pocketing the card, Harry rose from his chair and exited Kingsley's office. When the Minister of Magic gave a direct order, there was nothing to do but follow through on it, whether he wanted to or not. He hoped Kingsley was right and Donita Mulligan could help sort him out.


	28. Chapter 28

**XXVIII**

A brief interview for the WWN with Lee Jordan—who typically covered magical sports and games, but made an exception for a friend—was all it took to keep the press out of Harry's personal life. He had decided Kingsley was right; by being open, he might help at least one younger person struggling to make sense of their own identity. Due to Lee's matter-of-fact questions and Harry's lack of defensiveness, the whole thing went as smoothly as possible.

When Lee handed him a copy of the morning edition of the _Prophet_ , he said, "They printed my transcript of your interview." He grinned. "You should've seen Skeeter's face when her boss told her that her 'exclusive' story wasn't so exclusive and he wouldn't be printing it, as I'd already covered everything."

Afterward, Harry only received perhaps half a dozen Howlers, mostly from disappointed fan witches. The rest of his mail had been a mixed bag of anger, disappointment, and support. His favorite letters had been the two from Hogwarts students thanking him for making it possible for them to come out.

Despite his honesty with the public, which had earned him extra hugs from Hermione and celebratory drinks with Ron and George, he still kept his relationship with Draco entirely private. Some things—such as being involved with a former Death Eater—might be a bit much for his own friends, let alone the entire Wizarding world.

When September rolled around again, Harry's life finally seemed to be on a better trajectory. After a year with Donita Mulligan, the majority of Harry's inadvertent magical symptoms had all but disappeared. She had turned out to be a perfect fit for him—the right combination of gracious wit and warm compassion. He now had a handful of useful tools for coping with the various stressors in his life and an open invitation to schedule sessions as he needed. He was able to complete his second year of training easily under the direction of Featherstone, and she remained his supervisor for his final year.

Harry tried not to be too upset over spending Christmas without Draco; he wasn't able to come home so close to the end of his studies due to exams. It was only a few extra weeks beyond that until he would be home for good—if the Ministry saw fit to offer him work, that was. Harry kept his fingers crossed.

On a Monday morning in mid-January, the first thing Harry saw when he reached the training room was the regal horned owl perching on the edge of one of the tables. He recognised Cygnus immediately and knew that the haughty bird was waiting for him. Cygnus hooted reproachfully, holding out his leg in a stately fashion.

"Good morning to you, too," Harry said fondly. He untied the letter and reached into his robes to produce an owl treat. Cygnus eyed the treat with disdain but accepted it anyway before he flew away. Like master, like owl.

The letter was short this time. It read, _They offered me a job. I'll be home Saturday._

Harry's heart sped up. Home. He wasn't sure he would be able to wait that long—not that he had a choice in the matter. The previous two-plus years had been almost unbearable. Weekly owls and occasional visits had not been nearly enough to assuage the aching loneliness he had felt without Draco. Now he only had five more days to wait. The very thought that it was so close brought a ridiculous smile to his lips.

Still grinning like a fool, he took a seat at the table to wait for the rest of the trainees to arrive.

* * *

Harry spent the better part of Saturday morning pacing. Draco hadn't said _when_ he was coming back, only that it would be that day. The time alone without the distractions of training gave him the opportunity to consider what he was going to say.

He knew he needed to be truthful. Without really meaning to do so, he had fallen in love. He had taken the open-ended relationship seriously and done his share of dating, but there had never been anyone who caused even a fraction of the same feelings Draco did. The question now was whether Draco felt the same way or whether he would think Harry was a sentimental idiot who had fallen for the first person to share his bed. He decided that knowing Draco, it could go either way.

They had exchanged letters for the better part of the twenty-eight months they had been apart—not that Harry had been counting. At first, they were mostly the naughty postcards and Harry's vague notes in response. As time went on, the letters became more frequent as well as increasingly personal. Over the months, they began to make peace with their history. Like the secrets they had whispered under the cover of darkness in the Room of Requirement, these memories were easier to write than to speak. They gave name to the pain they had endured, and Harry had been left surprised by the unflinching honesty of the scars they shared. He cherished every letter and had saved them in a small box which he kept locked in Sirius' old room. Not that he would ever tell Draco that, of course. He was certain Draco would be an arse about it and tease him mercilessly.

He shook his head to clear it. He still had no idea what he was going to tell Draco, but dwelling on it had his stomach tied in knots, and he'd had to cast a hasty _Reparo_ on a vase in the hallway. Twice, Harry was sure he heard someone at the door and had nearly jumped out of his skin, but there had been no one there. He finally settled on making a cup of tea to calm his nerves when there was a genuine knock on the door. His heart in his throat, Harry raced into the entryway and flung the door wide.

There, looking as elegant as ever, stood Draco.

Harry's eyes burned and his pulse raced. Without waiting for a greeting, he yanked Draco inside and nearly slammed the door behind him. In an instant, he had his arms wrapped around Draco and his face buried in his shoulder.

"You're home," he kept saying, incapable of stopping. He knew he sounded needy, but he didn't care. He was too busy absorbing the crisp cool of Draco's cloak against his cheek and the clean scent of his skin. He was convinced that no matter how long they stood there, he would not be able to get enough.

By that point, Draco had folded his arms around Harry and was whispering into his hair, "Shh," his breath soft against Harry's head. They remained in the entryway for minutes or hours or days; Harry was never clear on how long it had been. He felt Draco stiffen slightly, though his arms remained firm.

"Potter," he muttered, his voice full of something Harry couldn't identify.

"Hm?"

"Are you _sniffing_ me?"

They finally pulled apart, and Harry felt the heat rising in his cheeks at Draco's half-annoyed, half-amused expression. He shrugged. "I might have been, yes."

Draco chuckled, and Harry started to laugh weakly as well, but mid-way, he felt his throat close and had to swallow against the lump forming there. He closed his eyes and spent several moments trying unsuccessfully to collect himself.

Harry felt a warm, soft hand on his cheek and leaned into it. "What is it?" he heard Draco ask. Harry opened his eyes to meet Draco's, red-rimmed and full of concern; it startled Harry. Until that moment, Harry hadn't even realised that he had begun crying in earnest. Embarrassed and frustrated as always by his emotions, he drew a long, shaky breath while Draco used his thumbs to brush away lingering tears.

"What's wrong?" Draco repeated.

"I don't—I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. "I think—I've been trying to think of what I was going to tell you all morning."

Draco frowned. "Tell me about what?" He dropped his hands to his sides and backed up. The loss of contact left Harry shivering.

Harry closed his eyes again. This would have been easier if he could have written it in a letter or whispered it into Draco's shoulder as they lay in bed together. He decided that keeping his eyes shut might give him the same sanctuary. "Tell you that I'm in love with you," he said at last.

When there was no response from Draco, Harry dared to open his eyes. Draco had not moved from the place where he stood. He was staring at Harry, his mouth set firmly; he said nothing.

"I mean," Harry continued, "I just…I know that you probably don't feel the same way, and I'm sorry. If you tell me you're leaving, that you don't love me back, I can handle that. But please don't tell me you want to keep going this way. It's just not enough." He was breathing hard, his shoulders slightly hunched forward and his hands out. "Please."

"I—"

_Oh god_ , Harry thought. _I've made such a mess_. He stepped back so that he was against the wall.

Draco closed the gap between them and laid a hand on Harry's neck just below his jaw. He drew him in for a kiss that left both of them more than a little breathless. He slid his lips across Harry's cheek and upwards so that they hovered against his hear. He whispered, "I love you, too."

Harry dropped his head to rest on Draco's shoulder. Relief washed over him in long, warm waves. "I missed you so much," he confessed into the fabric of Draco's expensive cloak.

Draco chuckled a little. "You missed me."

Harry stepped away and raised his head to meet Draco's gaze. Draco was wearing The Smirk, and Harry couldn't help laughing, though it was shaky. "Of course I missed you, you great prat."

The tenderness of Draco's homecoming gave way to the joy of a shared joke. Draco reached for Harry to swat at him, but Harry's Auror training gave him the ability to be out of reach before Draco's hand was even close. He danced away, laughing. They chased each other through the house and up the stairs until Harry let Draco catch him and pull him in for another snog in the upstairs hallway, despite the sneering glares of the portraits on the wall. They succumbed to the heat of their desire, kissing and pressing against each other until they were both aching with need. Harry made a feeble attempt to migrate them both into the bedroom, but Draco seemed to want nothing to do with it.

"God, Harry, just…I want you so much. It's been too long since we…" He didn't finish that statement; instead, he had much more pressing opportunities to occupy his mouth. His hands were frantically fumbling with the buttons on Harry's trousers.

Something occurred to Harry, and he opened his eyes. "Since _we_? You mean you haven't—"

Panting, Draco looked straight into his eyes. "No. Not since the last time I was home. Now can we _please_ …"

Harry stared at him in wonder, his hand on Draco's chest to still him. He understood what that meant. No more dancing around each other, pretending that what was between them was casual. Their words in the entryway had meant exactly what they were supposed to mean. Draco had waited for _him_ for the last six months, the same way he'd waited for Draco. Harry sucked in his breath. "Not here," he said. "I want to do this right. And definitely without the audience." He gestured to the portraits behind him then used the last of his resolve to haul Draco into the bedroom and close the door before eagerly yanking at the layers of clothing that were all that stood between them and giving in to their need.


	29. Chapter 29

**XXIX**

Undressing each other was a slower process than it might have been, as they kept stopping to kiss and touch each other. Eventually, they managed to get down to their pants, leaving everything else in a muddled heap on the floor. Harry took a minute to set his glasses on the night-stand then pulled Draco toward the bed, flopping down on it and dragging Draco on top of him. For a few minutes, they lay there, tangling their legs together and mapping each other with kisses. Gently, they undulated their bodies while they kissed.

Harry slid his hand inside Draco's pants and cupped his backside, running his hands over the soft flesh and using his position as leverage to angle their rocking pelvises together. He ached to be touched, so he withdrew one hand to grab Draco's and push it downward until it was between them. Taking the hint, Draco began to palm Harry through the thin fabric, eliciting a muffled groan. He trailed his lips and tongue down Harry's face and across his collar bone before descending further.

When he reached the bulge in Harry's pants, he mouthed against the material, leaving slightly damp spots. Slowly, he slipped Harry's pants down his hips, exposing his cock. For a moment, he simply sat there, looking. Harry nudged him impatiently with his knee, and Draco pulled the garment all the way off. He bent down and took just the tip of Harry's penis into his mouth. Harry inhaled sharply and let his legs fall to the sides, giving Draco greater access.

Draco moved his hand to cup and fondle Harry's balls, rolling them a little. Harry squirmed, desperately trying not to thrust upward and accidentally choke Draco. Just when he thought the sensations couldn't intensify further, he felt Draco slide his fingers down between his cheeks, brushing against his hole. Hastily, Harry reached over and felt around for the lube. When he located it, he passed it over to Draco, who accepted it without changing his position.

Gently, Draco slid a finger inside. He made a noise of surprise and came off Harry's cock with a tiny pop, looking up at him. "You're…ready," he said.

"Mm. I might have, er, practised a bit this week after I got your owl. It's been a while since you've been home, you know."

"God, that's sexy." He continued to move his finger, unnecessary though it was for preparation, and looked into Harry's eyes. "Next time, I get to watch you." Without waiting for a response, he returned his mouth to its previous occupation.

Harry tugged on his hair, wanting him to stop; he didn't want to come that way. When Draco pulled away, Harry drew him up and kissed him. He pushed a little until Draco lay supine, then began a long, slow path down his body with his mouth and hands. He removed Draco's pants and leaned over to toss them off the bed, snagging a condom on his way past the night-stand. He made a production of tearing it open, knowing that would elicit a reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Draco growled in anticipation, impatient but exercising extreme restraint by not rushing through getting the condom on. Harry knew he liked to take their time with this part, especially because Harry had a fondness for finding new and creative ways to apply it. He teased and fondled Draco, then quirked his eyebrows and gave what he hoped was a naughty smile—he wasn't nearly as experienced at that facial expression as Draco. Propping himself up on his elbows to see better, Draco looked at Harry quizzically. His eyes widened when Harry gently placed the condom between his lips.

Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's cock, gently enclosing the tip. With his hand, he slowly rolled the condom down. If he hadn't been concentrating so hard to make sure it was on properly, he might have smiled when he heard Draco mutter breathily, "Fuck" as he threw his head back. Draco usually concealed his swearing much better than that, which meant Harry had achieved the desired effect. When he was through, Harry sat up and moved to straddle Draco. He reached up to run his hands through Draco's hair, bending down and kissing him roughly.

"What are you doing?" Draco murmured.

Harry chuckled. "I'm going to ride your dick." He tried to sound more confident than he felt; he'd never actually tried it with anyone before.

It took a few minutes to successfully position themselves, and Harry had to swallow his embarrassment at not being as smooth as he'd intended. Draco didn't seem to mind; he groaned and thrust upward desperately, making Harry grunt. They set a rhythm, and Harry gripped himself, alternating between thrusting into his hand and rocking back down on Draco's cock. They gradually sped up their movements until, unable to bear it any longer, Harry let go. With a shout, he pulsed over his hand and Draco's stomach. A moment later, Draco thrust hard upward, stilled, and let out his breath in a forceful gasp as he tipped over the edge.

Breathing hard, Harry collapsed onto Draco's chest, not caring about spreading sweat and semen on them both. They stayed locked together, panting, while their heart rates returned to normal. Shaking from exertion and the potency of their release, Harry extracted himself from Draco and sprawled on the bed next to him. For several minutes, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Draco sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. After he tore off the condom and deposited it in the rubbish bin next to the bed, he spelled them both clean. He stood up and began sifting through the pile of discarded clothing. Having located his pants, he slid them back on.

Before Draco made another move, Harry stopped him. "Wait," he begged.

Draco turned around and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Don't go," Harry whispered, afraid Draco would think him foolish.

Instead of making a snide comment, Draco returned to the bed and sat back down. He reached a hand out to touch Harry's cheek. "I don't understand."

Harry sat up. "You always leave," he said. "Every time we fuck, you tell me you have to go, or you just get up in the middle of the night. You've been doing that since our first time." He felt his face grow hot.

"I wasn't going anywhere," Draco replied. "I just need to use the toilet, and I didn't want to give those portraits a view of my naked arse."

"Oh." Harry chuckled with relief. "Then…you'll stay with me? After you have a piss, I mean."

Draco laughed. "Yes. That's what I was going to tell you. I don't have to go back home."

"Really?" Harry realised he sounded too eager and tried to change his tone. "Er, I mean, that's good." He narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"I told my parents I was signing parchments on a flat today and that I would be moving in straightaway. That's why I was late—I had to convince them that I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions."

"Do you really have your own flat now?" Harry asked.

"Erm." Draco cleared his throat. "Not actually." His cheeks turned pink. "That is, I do, but I can't move in until the first of the month. I was rather hoping you might ask me…" He trailed off, and his flush darkened. "To stay here until then," he finished.

"I don't know. Think we could keep from hexing each other for that long?"

"Potter!"

Harry grinned. "As if I'd say no. Of course you can stay." He sniggered. "As long as you promise to stop calling me by my surname. Only the people at work do that, and I'd rather not be thinking about _them_ whilst I'm shagging _you_."

Draco reached around and snagged one of the pillows, smacking Harry soundly with it. Harry grabbed another one and retaliated, which led to both of them wrestling around. That lasted all of two minutes before Harry had him pinned. Draco complained, "Watch it! I still have to pee."

Reluctantly, Harry let him up. When he returned a few minutes later, he stripped naked again and slid into bed beside Harry. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed lightly, not quite ready for another go but wanting to remain connected.

After a little while, Draco pulled back and looked at Harry. "I'm not sure I'm ready to be open about us yet," he said.

Harry nodded. "That may be wise, after some of the trouble I've had at work. Not to mention the reaction some people have had just to my coming out—I can't imagine what they'd do finding out I'm seeing someone. Then it suddenly becomes less theoretical." He didn't add that it might be more _who_ he was seeing than anything else.

"Right," Draco agreed. "It's probably for the best, at least until I've had some time at my new job. I'd rather not have people thinking I brought back some new kind of love potion and tested it out on you just to get into the hero's pants. Besides which, my parents still don't even know I'm gay, let alone whose bed I've been in. But what about your friends? Won't they notice that I'm staying here?"

"No. I can put them off for a couple weeks. They don't come round very often—I'm more likely to go to them." He shrugged one shoulder. "They still find this house creepy, and they don't like Cherise much."

"Your snake is damn annoying. Thank Merlin she wasn't in here watching us," Draco replied. "And your house _is_ creepy. That's why I like it." He smirked, and Harry wished he'd had enough time to recover so he could appreciate—and take advantage of—the tingle it caused him.

He leaned in and kissed Draco again, thinking that was one thing he would never tire of. "Then we're agreed. We'll wait until we're both ready."

Draco effectively silenced further conversation by capturing Harry's lips with his own. Any questions about the future could wait; they had no need to rush to sort things out. Instead, they chose to spend the remainder of the day finding as many ways to satisfy each other as they could while the cold, January sky deepened from ice blue to velvety black and the twinkling stars popped out one by one.

They were home, and their daydream was reality. That was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end. I cannot thank you all enough for the love you've shown this story. It was an adventure to write, and I'm sorry to see it end. If you haven't read them, the two stories in this same "world" are Gifts and Clouds. They sort of tie up the loose ends I've left at the end of this story, though I wrote them first. I've left room for short stories that run concurrently with this one, though I have no idea if I'll ever write them. If any of you want to adopt this "world" and write stories in it, please feel free; I would be honored. As always, much love to you all and thanks for reading.


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